The Serpent of Lord Voldemort
by Angie Astravic
Summary: Transformed into a serpent, a prisoner in Voldemort's lair, Harry must engineer his escape amidst encounters with Nagini, Wormtail and Snape, and then find a way to protect Malfoy from the Dark Lord's wrath when his mission to kill Harry goes awry.
1. Serpent in Privet Drive

  
Author's Note: This story takes place summer after _Goblet of Fire_. It's a sequel to "The Serpent", in which Harry learnt he could turn into a snake. Thank you to everyone who reviewed that story. 

* * *

  
  


— CHAPTER ONE — 

_Serpent in Privet Drive_

  
'Mrs Figg?' Harry called down the hall. 'I'm going to number four, OK?' 

'Say hello to your aunt and uncle for me,' Mrs Figg's voice floated back from the kitchen. 

'Er,' said Harry. 

That would be difficult. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were not currently in residence at number four. Harry was staying with Mrs Figg; her back had started playing her up earlier in the year and the Dursleys had volunteered him to live in over the holidays and keep an eye on her. 

Uncle Vernon had informed Harry of this as they were driving away from King's Cross at the beginning of summer. Then, rather than taking Harry back to Privet Drive, Uncle Vernon let him off in Paddington station and handed him a train ticket to Little Whinging. 

'... and I shall expect you to look in on the house and garden every day,' Uncle Vernon growled. 'If they're not in perfect condition when we get back, you'll be very sorry indeed.' 

'Get back?' Harry asked, slightly stunned at this sudden turn of events. 'Where are you going?' 

'Majorca,' said Uncle Vernon curtly. He slammed the car door shut and drove off at top speed. 

Harry arrived at Mrs Figg's house late that night and had been sleeping in her spare room ever since. Once he got over his surprise, he was quite relieved he wouldn't have to put up with his relations that summer, particularly in light of everything that had happened last year at Hogwarts. Old and boring Mrs Figg might be, but living with her was still infinitely preferable to living with the Dursleys. 

Her cat stories were as deadly dull as ever, but Harry had worked out a routine to avoid the worst of them. He spent his mornings doing whatever work he could find around Mrs Figg's house and garden that he judged might strain her back. After lunch he made the excuse of going to visit the Dursleys' house, taking care to remain outdoors until nearly dark. Of evening he kept to his room, ostensibly doing homework. 

Harry had been at Mrs Figg's for almost a week before he noticed that she didn't seem to realise the Dursleys were away. At first Harry was somewhat concerned, but a few days close observation revealed nothing else apparently amiss with her mind, memory or hearing. He supposed his aunt and uncle had simply neglected to mention their trip to her. 

Harry hadn't been sure what to do about this. The Dursleys had left him with Mrs Figg on previous occasions, but not without telling her, and not when she was in poor health -- although come to think of it, her back hadn't appeared to be hurting her all that much lately either. Even so, Mrs Figg wasn't likely to be pleased when she found out the truth, and the longer Harry waited to tell her, the less pleased she'd be. 

It was possible the Dursleys might return before Mrs Figg discovered they were gone, but Harry had no idea how long they'd be in Majorca, or for that matter where they were staying. This was another problem -- he'd have a job explaining his magic things to social services if Mrs Figg reported him as an abandoned child. 

Harry finally decided to write and tell his friend Ron Weasley. Ron's mother had spoken of inviting Harry to stay with them later in the summer. It would give him a place to go if Mrs Figg felt she couldn't keep him on, and Mr Weasley would no doubt be able to smooth over any troubles with the Muggle authorities. Hedwig had soared off yesterday evening, carrying his letter to The Burrow. 

Blazing sunlight poured down on Privet Drive, and all appeared as it should be in the front garden as Harry approached number four. Going round the back, he saw that the rose bushes needed watering. He had just begun dragging the hose towards them when a blinding pain seared across his scar. 

It felt as though someone had driven a red-hot nail through his skull. Harry staggered, tripped over the coils of the hose and fell to the ground. The burning in his forehead grew steadily worse, along the terrifying realisation of what it must mean -- that somehow, impossibly, Lord Voldemort was nearby. 

Now Harry could hear someone moving around inside the house. He had to run, to hide, but his scar was hurting so badly he couldn't stand up. If he could get to the greenhouse ... if he could crawl there ... Using every last ounce of strength, he fought to drag himself across the ground, but even that seemed to require more of an effort than he was capable of. 

Suddenly the pain in Harry's scar faded to a dull ache and crawling became miraculously easier, in spite of the fact that his arms and legs had vanished. The grass had grown enormously high about him and the scent of the flowers had increased tenfold. The greenhouse towered in the distance, larger even than Hogwarts castle, but now Harry was making speedy progress towards it -- now that he had transformed into a serpent. 

The back door opened. A foot hit the ground, sending vibrations through Harry's entire body, and a most peculiar odour reached his tongue. Harry shot under the nearest rose bush and froze, heart pounding rapidly. He watched as a tall, cloaked figure strolled out into the garden, doing his best to remain still and calm. Even if Voldemort had seen the snake, he couldn't possibly realise it was Harry. All Harry had to do was stay quiet and keep out of sight ... 

Voldemort looked around him. His snake-like nostrils dilated and his red, slitted eyes fixed upon Harry's hiding place. 

'You! Under the rose bush! Come here!' he said sharply. 

Something about the cold, hissing voice made Harry obey it unthinkingly. With a flick of his tail he sent himself slithering across the grass towards the speaker, coming to a stop a few feet away and raising his head attentively. 

When Harry gazed up into the livid scarlet eyes of Lord Voldemort, his trance was shattered. Terror clogged his brain and snake instinct took over. In a weird, all-over, twisting-inside-out motion, he flopped on to his back and went limp. 

'It's no good, I know you're not really dead,' said Voldemort, now sounding quite amused. 'I'm not going to hurt you -- I only want to ask you some questions.' 

Harry reluctantly unflopped himself. Voldemort went down on one knee and held out his left arm. Harry slowly and awkwardly wrapped himself around it. In addition to being scared out of his wits, he'd not spent enough time as a snake to be entirely at ease with its body's movements. Voldemort stood up and Harry tightened his coils convulsively to avoid slipping off. 

'The people who live here, where are they?' asked Voldemort. 

With some difficulty, Harry stopped himself blurting out 'Majorca'. He didn't think that even the Dursleys deserved to have Voldemort set on them. 

'They -- they're gone,' Harry said, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking. 'Been gone for days.' 

'Did you see them leave?' 

'Yeah,' Harry forced himself to lie. 'They carried a bunch of boxes to the car and drove away.' 

This last was probably true; he'd had to put his trunk in the back seat of Uncle Vernon's car as there was luggage in the boot. Aunt Petunia and Dudley hadn't been with him -- Harry assumed Uncle Vernon had left them off shopping or something. 

'What kind of boxes?' demanded Voldemort. 

'Brown -- squarish -- leather,' said Harry vaguely. He wasn't sure a snake would know what a suitcase was. 

Voldemort paced up and down the garden, obviously thinking hard. 'The smaller boy --' 

'He wasn't with them,' Harry said before he could stop himself. After a brief internal struggle, he added, 'He hasn't been here since last summer.' 

'But you'd recognise him, if he came back,' said Voldemort. 

'I reckon so,' said Harry. 'He used to do a lot of the gardening in the summer.' 

Harry was starting to feel a bit less apprehensive. If Voldemort thought the snake could be useful as a spy, to keep a watch for Harry's return, he wasn't likely to do anything horrible to it. 

'Excellent,' said Voldemort. 

He walked round to the front garden, Harry still clinging on to his arm, and turned to face the house. His lipless mouth curled into a most unpleasant smile. 

'As no one seems to be in, I shall have to leave a calling card,' he said. He pointed his wand at number four and snapped, '_Reducto!_' 

CRACK! 

With tremendous thundering roar, the whole front half of the Dursleys' house collapsed into rubble. Voldemort stepped over the garden wall on to the pavement and waved his wand again. Grass and flowers shrivelled and blackened in the shape of a Dark Mark covering a better part of the front garden. 

Remembering his uncle's last words to him in Paddington station, Harry surveyed the destruction with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach (which now took up most of his body). If Voldemort didn't kill him, Uncle Vernon certainly would. 

Harry began to hear shouts and screams from neighbours who were hurrying out to see what had made the great racket. Then his vision blurred, and the sounds and smells of Privet Drive grew fainter and vanished. 

When Harry's eyes cleared again, he was inside a large stone room. The fear he had initially felt upon being caught by Voldemort returned in full force. Where had Voldemort taken him? And, more importantly, _why_? 

Harry flicked out his tongue. Wood, stone, dust, books -- the smells reminded him strongly of the Hogwarts classroom in which he was first transformed into a snake. He swung his head from one side to the other, taking stock of his new surroundings. 

It looked as though he was in some sort of study. Bookshelves and cabinets lined the walls. Directly in front of him was a desk made of dark, highly polished wood, carved into an elaborate design of entwined serpents, their eyes set with tiny green and yellow jewels. 

On the desk was a roll of parchment weighted open by a fat, warty bronze toad and an enormous faceted emerald nearly the size of a man's fist. A stack of books had been pushed aside to the far corner. Lying beside them was a knife with a black metal blade and a plain wooden hilt. 

All in all, the room had an only recently occupied look to it. There were many empty spaces amongst the books on the shelves, and bare spots on the walls where pictures should have hung. 

'Where are we?' Harry asked nervously. 

'Your new home,' Voldemort replied. 

He walked past the desk towards a door in the wall that it faced. Harry, wrapped about his arm, perforce went with him. They came out into a much smaller room, empty except for several chairs. Although of the same style as the desk in Voldemort's study, these chairs were rather shabby -- wood scratched, velvet padding stained and worn, jewelled eyes missing from some of the carved snakes. 

Voldemort waved his wand, and the chairs rose into the air and floated to the left side of the room. All along the right-hand wall he conjured up a kind of stone enclosure, roughly four feet high, with a round stone basin in the middle of it. 

The basin filled itself with water and the area around it filled with dirt. A patch of tall grass sprang up on one side of the basin and some shorter grass, a rose bush and a large rock appeared on the other. The rose bush bore a suspicious resemblance to the one Harry had hidden under in the Dursleys' back garden. 

Voldemort looked down at Harry and said, 'In a few weeks, I will have a very important job for you to do ... what is your name?' 

It was very hard for Harry to lie to Voldemort as a snake, but sheer self-preservation prevented him from saying 'Harry Potter'. He had to tell Voldemort something, though, and he hadn't the foggiest notion what kind of names real snakes gave themselves. 

'I -- I don't think I have one,' Harry replied after some moments of frantic thought. 

If challenged, he planned to say he'd been hatched out in a pet shop and never known his mother, but Voldemort didn't seem made unduly suspicious. 

'Then I shall call you Seeker,' he said with a twisted smile. Harry tensed at the mention of his Quidditch position. Luckily Voldemort didn't appear to notice. 'For now, you'll be living in here,' he continued. 'What sort of things do you like to eat?' 

Harry wasn't certain what snakes ate, either. He suspected it would be an extremely bad idea to ask for steak-and-kidney pudding ... and the thought of eating it was actually quite revolting to him. Nasty brown sludge -- what he really fancied was a plump, green, juicy -- 

'Frogs,' said Harry. 'I eat frogs.' 

Voldemort set his hand on the grass near the rose bush so Harry could slide off his arm. With one last wave of his wand, he conjured a glass front for the enclosure, sealing it into a tank. 

That done, Voldemort disappeared into his study. Harry stared out at the empty room in shock for several long moments. Then a new feeling came over him, a feeling of being horribly exposed and vulnerable. At the fastest slither he could manage, Harry made his way past the stone-lined pond and headed into the tall grass to take cover. 

Halfway to the back wall of the tank, he came across what looked like an abandoned rabbit-hole. He crawled inside, curled up and simply lay there, shaking from head to tail, scarcely able to believe he was still alive. 

Alive -- but a prisoner of Voldemort, who thought he was a real snake and had a job for him to do. Something foul, no doubt. Harry recalled with a shudder the wizard quoted in Rita Skeeter's last article, who'd said that snakes were used for Dark Magic of the very worst sort. 

He had to get away from here, as quickly as possible ... but how? Harry could see no way of escaping from his tank, not with Voldemort in the next room. His wand was in his trunk at Mrs Figg's, along with his Invisibility Cloak, his Firebolt, his penknife from Sirius -- anything, in fact, that could be of any use to him. 

Mrs Figg ... it felt like years since he'd left her house. What would she think when he didn't show up for dinner? Of course she'd hear about number four being blown up long before then. She didn't know the Dursleys were in Majorca -- she'd think the whole family had been murdered! 

Harry wondered what the neighbours would make of the Dark Mark burnt into the Dursleys' lawn, not to mention the Muggle police. He assumed the Ministry of Magic would eventually wipe everyone's memory. A brief hope that they might somehow manage to track Voldemort to his hideout flickered and died. 

Voldemort wouldn't be stopping here if this place was easy to find, and it wasn't a sure bet that the Ministry would even be looking. Would the wreckage of the Dursleys' house be enough to convince Fudge that Voldemort truly had returned? Harry didn't have high hopes -- Fudge would be desperate to believe anything rather than that. He'd probably reckon Harry had gone mad and done it himself. 

Dumbledore would know Harry was innocent, but he'd have no reason to suppose that Harry had survived. Only Ron and Hermione were aware that Harry could turn into a snake, and it would hardly occur to either of them that he had somehow become Voldemort's pet -- the notion was simply too far-fetched. 

He could count on no rescue from outside. Harry drew his coils tighter in despair. He had always known in the back of his mind that he would have to face Lord Voldemort again, but not so soon or so unexpectedly or so alone. The only bright spot to his situation was that he had a little time to come up with a good plan. 

Harry settled himself into a more comfortable position and started thinking. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	2. Serpent in a Tank

  
  


— CHAPTER TWO — 

_Serpent in a Tank_

  
Harry emerged from his burrow the next morning in immensely low spirits. He had slept quite badly the night before, dreaming that he was once more in the graveyard where scarcely two weeks ago Lord Voldemort had risen again. Only this time, Voldemort had somehow got Cedric Diggory's body back and was wanting Harry to wriggle down Cedric's throat and fetch a bezoar from his stomach. 

In the cold light of dawn, the memory of Cedric's blank dead grey eyes was still very much with Harry, and his prospects for escape looked exceedingly dim. All his thinking and planning of the previous day had served only to run into one snag after another. 

Getting out of the tank would involve, necessarily, breaking its glass front, which was certain to attract the attention of anyone within earshot. At that very moment Harry could feel the reverberations of Voldemort's footsteps in the study, and there might well be other people about that he'd not seen yet. 

Then he'd have to find his way out of the -- house? Building? Castle? Harry could be inside Gringotts or Azkaban for all he knew. To do this would require his becoming human again; he was far too small a snake to reach doorknobs. 

If Harry was caught wandering around as himself, he was dead. If he was caught wandering around as a snake, he'd have a lot of explaining to do. Should Voldemort become suspicious, or decide the snake wasn't reliable enough for whatever work he had in mind, he'd probably have it chopped up for potion ingredients. 

Once outdoors, Harry would have no way to travel except on foot -- or rather on stomach; he'd be too easily spotted as a human being. He had no idea which direction he should head in or how far he'd have to go to reach a place of safety. He might not even be in England any more -- if Voldemort had gone to ground in Durmstrang, for example. 

Harry crawled disconsolately to the pond to have a drink. There were several tiny green frogs swimming around in it. They gave off a wonderful smell, warm and rich and meaty. Harry caught one in his mouth and swallowed it whole. This took some time, but after he'd eaten Harry felt a little less worse. 

He saw that a patch of light from a small round window at the top of the tank had fallen on the rock near the rose bush. It looked invitingly warm and sunny. Harry slithered over to it and, after some trial and error owing to his unaccustomed lack of arms and legs, clambered on. 

As he basked on the rock, more optimistic thoughts began to fill Harry's mind. Maybe he'd be able to vanish the glass as he had at the zoo on Dudley's birthday. If he had to smash it, he could wait until Voldemort went away. This was bound to happen at some point; Voldemort wasn't likely to stop in his study day and night for weeks on end. There might be Floo powder left lying about, or a broomstick ... 

The situation, Harry told himself firmly, was far from hopeless. 

* 

He had to remind himself of this fact fairly often in the days that followed. Harry decided to hold off on an escape attempt, partly to give himself a chance to get the lie of the land, and partly because if at all possible he wanted Voldemort gone when he finally did make a break for it. 

None of what he discovered was particularly encouraging. His tank was in a sort of waiting room, into which masked, hooded Death Eaters would Apparate, to sit in the dilapidated chairs until Voldemort summoned them into his study. Harry initially had hopes of overhearing some scrap of useful information to take back to Dumbledore, but that turned out to be a non-starter. 

Never was there more than one Death Eater in the room at the same time, nor was the entrance to the study ever left open. The door itself was too thick and heavy for Harry to eavesdrop on conversations inside, but when Voldemort got upset with one of the unfortunate Death Eaters, the shrieks of agony carried through it all too well. 

Harry had terrible nightmares whenever this happened and became quite afraid he might accidentally change back to human in his sleep. Although Wormtail had never done so whilst pretending to be Ron's pet rat Scabbers, Harry was not a normal Animagus. 

Transfiguration reversal spells didn't work on him if he chose to fight them and even when a snake he could speak English as well as Parseltongue. (That he might do so while asleep was another serious worry.) Nor had he gone through the long and arduous training process that Hermione assured him was necessary to becoming an Animagus. 

He had been Transfigured into a snake last year in Potions by Draco Malfoy and from then on could transform himself back and forth at will. Hermione hadn't been able to determine why, and Harry hadn't dared ask anybody else for fear of being expelled from Hogwarts as an illegal Animagus. For the same reason, he had made practically no use of this power since first discovering it. 

He was now deeply regretting that. There might be other peculiarities to his condition, and this was not a good time to learn of them the hard way. Worse, he had almost no experience of moving about as a snake. Except when acting on pure instinct, he was extremely slow and clumsy. As Harry intended to change back only when absolutely necessary during the course of his flight, this would present a real problem. 

Even so, after a few days in the tank Harry had grown sufficiently apprehensive that he resolved to have a go at vanishing the glass and making his getaway late at night while Voldemort was sleeping. Instead of retiring to the burrow when evening fell, he lay awake waiting for the feelings of movement in Voldemort's study to subside. 

One of the major advantages to being a snake was his ability to sense vibrations through the ground. Harry could always tell when someone was moving around, not just in the waiting room but in Voldemort's study and the unknown rooms that adjoined it. Harry suspected there were living quarters connected to the study -- rarely had any significant length of time gone by without his receiving some indication of Voldemort's presence. 

Unfortunately, he realised as the first rays of sunshine began to brighten the room, this was as much the case in the night as in the day. After staying up two more nights with much the same results, Harry was forced to conclude that either Voldemort was an exceptionally restless sleeper or he didn't sleep much at all. Clearly, a midnight defection was right out. 

Tired and dispirited, Harry crawled into his burrow to get some rest. When he woke, late in the afternoon, he cheered himself with the thought that if Voldemort ever did stay still for very long, it would be a good bet he really had left the area. 

When he did, Harry would know, and when sneaking through the house he'd be forewarned of anyone else approaching from rooms away. Although he was beginning to doubt there _was_ anyone else -- apart from the times when one of the Death Eaters had come to call, he had never noticed more than a single set of footsteps. 

While Harry waited for Voldemort to leave for a bit, he passed the time learning to get around properly as a snake -- slithering laps of the tank, climbing over the rock and swimming and diving in the pond. He also practised sneaking and hiding -- darting behind the rose bush and lying perfectly still, or creeping through the tall grass as slowly and silently as he could, trying to reach the burrow without causing a visible disturbance. 

Despite the obstacles facing him, Harry reckoned he stood a fair chance of getting out of this one alive ... and then Nagini came slithering by. 

* 

Harry was sunning himself on his rock when he heard the door to Voldemort's study open. That was funny, there was no Death Eater in the waiting room. Harry hadn't felt any footsteps, either, just a steady sort of dragging. He glanced up, saw Nagini's great ugly head peering down at him and got some unexpected practice in ducking and covering. 

Nagini banged her nose imperiously against the glass. 

'Come and play, little boy,' she hissed mockingly at Harry, who had dived behind the rock. 

Harry stayed where he was. He didn't think Nagini could get into the tank, but she had given him a nasty shock. 

'Nagini,' Voldemort called out reprovingly. 'I said you were not to tease him.' 

Nagini gave Harry a last sibilant sneer and glided back into the study. Harry crept out from behind the rock and slipped into the tall grass to ponder this most unpleasant development. 

Nagini ... Harry had forgotten all about her. He'd definitely not bargained on having a real serpent hanging around. This was bad, very bad ... Harry had managed to hoodwink Lord Voldemort, but he wasn't sure he could fool another snake ... and if she had the run of the house, it would make his escape a thousand times more difficult than any number of other wizards in the vicinity. 

Nagini would be able to feel him when he was moving and smell him when he was hiding. Probably track him too, Harry could easily follow the trails he himself left on the floor of the tank. Even when he was human, Nagini was a lot bigger than him, and Voldemort had said she was venomous. He'd be no match for her ... no match for her, unarmed. 

Harry remembered the dagger he'd seen on Voldemort's desk. He'd have to remain human to carry it, which would mean losing his snake senses, but if it was still there, if he could get his hands on it, it would give him some chance against Nagini. Still, Harry didn't relish the notion of taking her on. It reminded him strongly of his fight with the Basilisk, which he wouldn't have survived without Fawkes the phoenix, who wasn't likely to be showing up here. 

* 

Harry spent the rest of the week in a thoroughly depressed mood, which wasn't helped by the fact that Nagini made a point of crawling past his tank nearly every day. Sometimes she merely looked in on him for a few seconds before sloping off. Occasionally, however, she draped her massive diamond-patterned body over one of the chairs and sat leering into the tank for hours on end, only to hurry away upon feeling some distant tremor through the floor. 

Harry could no longer claim, even to himself, that the situation was far from hopeless. Really, it was quite near. But he'd not believed it had actually got there until the third time Nagini came into the waiting room to keep a watch. 

As soon as he saw she'd be stopping for a while, Harry retreated into his burrow, followed by the sound of her low, spitting laughter. He wasn't actually afraid of Nagini, not so long as he was inside the tank, but he couldn't run the risk of her catching him in some obviously unsnakelike behaviour. 

Nonetheless, it was most annoying to have to hide underground all day. Harry shifted his coils restlessly. How much longer was she planning to wait here? She'd arrived late morning and now it was starting to get dark. Nagini had never stayed this long before. She usually went scurrying off at the first sign of movement in the study. And what was up with Voldemort? It wasn't like him to be so quiet for such a length of time, either ... 

Harry felt as though his insides had suddenly frozen solid. What if -- what if Nagini was coming in to guard his tank when Voldemort was away from the house? Perhaps Voldemort had told her to keep an eye on Harry, or perhaps she had simply seen an opportunity to disobey his injunction not to taunt the new snake ... it hardly mattered. 

Trying to escape with Nagini in the house would be dangerous. Trying to escape with Nagini in the same _room_, staring right at him, would be sheer suicide. He wouldn't make it to the study to search for a weapon. 

He was going to die, Harry thought numbly. Either Nagini would kill him when he broke out of the tank, or Voldemort would kill him when he refused to perform the task Voldemort set him. And he would refuse -- he'd rather die than help Voldemort in any way. 

The next several days left Harry feeling rather as though a Dementor had moved into the tank with him. He kept to the burrow mostly; he could no longer see much point to practising being a serpent. Even lying on the sunlit rock Harry felt cold and miserable, and he'd given up eating altogether. He didn't appear to experience hunger pains when a snake and catching frogs seemed entirely too much bother. 

Although Harry had faced death on a number of occasions, it always had been _imminent_ death, turning up with barely any warning and pushing off again just as quickly. Never before had he had such an endless amount of time, to wait and to worry and to dwell on what dying would actually mean. 

'_To the well organised mind, death is but the next great adventure_', Dumbledore had once told him. Too bad Dumbledore hadn't mentioned anything about minds that _weren't_ well organised. The only thing Harry seemed able to do with his at present was brood on all the things he'd ever wanted to do and now never would -- play Quidditch for England, become an Auror, take Cho to a ball ... 

The next great adventure was little consolation when his first one was about to be over before it had properly begun. And how good could any adventure be, with none of his friends on it with him? He'd never see Ron and Hermione again ... at least not for an extremely long time ... or Sirius, or Hagrid, or anyone from Hogwarts. 

Well, Cedric Diggory would be there, Harry supposed. Cedric wouldn't be doing any of that stuff either, and it was all Harry's fault. Would Cedric be very angry with him? At least Harry had returned Cedric's body to his parents. There would be no one to bring Harry's body back to -- to who? The Dursleys certainly wouldn't want it, and most of the wizarding world believed Harry's godfather a mass murderer. 

Harry would be rejoining own parents, which was something, but he'd be bringing them such terrible news. He'd have to tell his father that his best friend had spent thirteen years in Azkaban for a crime he'd not committed and was still on the run, with one less witness to argue for his innocence. He'd have to tell his mother that everything her sacrifice had won them had been lost again -- Harry was dead and Lord Voldemort was back. 

That was the worst of it, really. Harry could have just about resigned himself to dying, if only he could have been certain his friends would be all right after he was gone. But they wouldn't be, of course. A dark and difficult time was coming, and Harry wouldn't be there to meet it alongside them. 

* 

It was this thought that finally pulled Harry out of his funk. A determination slowly grew within him -- Voldemort might be going to murder him, but Harry intended to do as much damage as he could to the rising Dark side before he died. 

Exactly how to go about this, however, proved an even thornier problem than escaping. Harry hadn't previously given all that much consideration to what Voldemort might be getting up to. Obviously, he had gone to number four with the intention of doing Harry in. Which was strange, now that Harry came to think of it. Hadn't Voldemort said something about not being able to get at him when he was in Privet Drive last summer? 

In any case, Voldemort had evidently given up on that scheme once he found out the Dursleys were on holiday. He'd mostly remained here in his study since capturing Harry, doing whatever he did behind closed doors, receiving visits from Death Eaters. He'd been quite furious with some of them right after Harry first arrived. There had been a spate of tortures, which thankfully had tapered off after a couple of weeks. Had Voldemort sent the Death Eaters out to search for Harry and become enraged when they didn't find him? 

Apart from wanting Harry dead, it seemed likely that Voldemort would try and pick up where he'd left off prior to his downfall thirteen years ago. Taking over everywhere, Hagrid had said. Dumbledore meant to stop him before he got a good hold and thought Voldemort would attempt to enlist giants and Dementors in his cause. There'd been none of that lot coming round here, though, no one but the Death Eaters. 

If Harry was to sabotage Voldemort's plans, he'd have to start by figuring out what they were. Harry concentrated harder than ever on the outside of the tank, but with no greater success than during his initial stab at being a spy. The waiting Death Eaters were as silent and uninformative as before, and if there was a pattern to their comings and goings, Harry couldn't see it. 

They sometimes carried brown paper packages, but none of these were ever unwrapped in his sight. His sense of smell could only give him a general idea of what the objects inside were made of -- paper, wood, metal, cloth, glass, dead animals or plants, a number of the substances he couldn't even identify ... 

During his first week in the waiting room Harry had learnt to judge how well or badly the Death Eaters' interviews with Voldemort had gone. There was a particular odour to their sweat that grew more intense the longer they were made to wait. Those who stumbled out of the study after being tortured positively reeked of it. Harry suspected that this smell was caused by fear. 

This knowledge was of limited usefulness, however, as he never did become able to distinguish the scents of individual Death Eaters. He _could_ pick out which of them used the same brand of soap, and two of the smaller ones had a smell which was subtly different from that of the others. Harry reckoned those ones might be women. 

Voldemort also had a somewhat unusual scent. Harry thought he smelled a bit like a snake as well as looking like one. It was hard to be sure, though. Harry got brief whiffs of him whenever the door to the study opened, but Voldemort himself never came into the waiting room. In fact, aside from calling off Nagini, Voldemort had completely ignored Harry since putting him in the tank. 

For the first time ever, Harry was beginning to regret this, because all the bits of information he'd managed to gather so far added up to absolutely nothing. After over a week of straining his powers of observation to their utmost, he was no closer to discovering what was afoot here than on his first day in the tank. 

* 

Then one morning as Harry was slithering along his obstacle course (he'd restarted his training programme, more out of frustration than anything else), the study door opened and Voldemort stepped out. 

Harry stopped short in front of the rock. 

Voldemort strode over to the tank and rapped on its front, calling out, 'Seeker ... breakfast!' 

He stuck his other hand through the glass, which parted like water around his arm, and deposited a fat, grey and all too familiar-looking rat directly in front of Harry. 

It was Wormtail. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	3. Seeker in the Cellar

  
  


— CHAPTER THREE — 

_Seeker in the Cellar_

  
Hissing and spitting with fury, Harry reared up and struck at him. The rat gave a terrified squeal and streaked for the rose bush, scuttling behind it to cower in the corner of the tank. 

Harry slithered back and forth in front of the rose bush, so enraged he could barely think. It was Wormtail -- Wormtail, who had betrayed Harry's parents, framed Sirius Black and murdered Cedric Diggory with Voldemort's wand. 

Harry wanted nothing more than to drag the rat from his refuge and strangle him, which would be somewhat difficult with no hands. Harry lashed his tail angrily. If he crawled after Wormtail and flushed him out into the open, could he perhaps use his coils to crush him? 

'Don't like rats much, do you?' said Voldemort, sounding slightly surprised. 

'I _hate_ them!' spat Harry, without thinking -- he'd have to come up with a good story on very short notice if Voldemort asked him why. 

But Voldemort merely said with a smirk, 'Well, he'll only be in there for a day or so. See to it that he has an interesting time.' 

With a swish of his robes, Voldemort returned to the study. 

Once Harry's initial rage died down, he settled himself beside the rose bush to glare at the petrified rat. He could go after Wormtail with his teeth, he supposed, but to have that foul, hairy creature in his mouth -- it was a sickening thought. Odd that, he'd been eating live frogs for weeks with no trouble. 

Did Voldemort seriously expect him to eat a rat? Although Harry knew snakes could swallow fairly large meals, Wormtail looked a tad _too_ large for him. Voldemort had said the rat was breakfast, but then he'd told Harry that Wormtail would be in the tank for the rest of the day. Had he meant tomorrow's breakfast? 

As Harry replayed Voldemort's words in his mind, he suddenly realised that Voldemort had been speaking English, not Parseltongue, when he'd mentioned breakfast. The only instruction the snake had actually been given was to see that Wormtail had an interesting time ... 

Harry didn't go into his burrow to sleep that evening. He stuck close to the rose bush, keeping a sharp eye on Wormtail, giving a warning hiss whenever the rat so much as twitched a whisker. 

When the next morning dawned, Harry glided over to the pond and had a drink. Wormtail gazed yearningly at the water, but clearly didn't dare leave the shelter of the rose bush whilst Harry was nearby. Harry returned to his position, resisting the temptation to catch a frog. Let Wormtail believe he was in danger of being eaten, even if he wasn't. 

It was late afternoon before Voldemort reached back into the tank and took the rat out. 

'Dear, dear,' he said. 'It doesn't seem that Seeker eats rats after all. I must remember to Transfigure you into a frog, should I ever have cause put you in his tank again.' 

He let Wormtail drop. The rat hit the floor with a smack and changed into a man. Peter Pettigrew, quite hysterical, lay grovelling and sobbing at Voldemort's feet. 

'Master ... forgive me ... I thought ... I thought ...' 

'Wormtail, you don't have the brains for thinking,' said Voldemort lazily. 'If _I_ thought for one second that you had deliberately misled me, I would have given you to Nagini. She doesn't eat rats either ... but she does eat wizards.' 

Voldemort turned on his heel and swept back into his study. As soon as the door shut, Wormtail staggered to his feet and Disapparated. 

* 

Although the incident had provided Harry with a break in his routine, he was unable to deduce anything of much value from it. Wormtail had done something stupid, obviously, but Voldemort had wanted him frightened, not killed ... this time. Two more useless facts were added to his growing list, as well as yet another horrible thing to worry about. 

The possibility that Voldemort might turn Wormtail into a frog disturbed Harry deeply. He had never thought to wonder where the frogs he ate were coming from -- they simply turned up in his pond every few days. Voldemort's remark had quite spoiled his appetite. It also rekindled his fears about the task Voldemort intended him to do, a task which could only be drawing nearer. 

From then onwards, Harry made certain to observe his frogs carefully for any signs of human intelligence prior to swallowing them, as carefully as he observed the Death Eaters in the waiting room for clues to what Voldemort was doing. Both activities proved to be an equal waste of effort. 

It was looking less and less likely that Harry would have an opportunity strike a blow against the Dark side before he was called on to do the 'very important job' that Voldemort had for him. Which left the job itself ... Harry just hoped that it was important enough and that he could make enough of a mess of it to do some serious harm. 

So Harry waited ... and he waited ... his nerves stretched to the breaking point by a peculiar combination of boredom and terror. In a way it was almost a relief when Voldemort came out of his study and reached into the tank once more, this time taking out Harry. 

* 

'_Seeker_ ...' 

Harry was woken by the sound of a low hissing voice, calling ... calling _him_. Still half asleep, he struggled out of his burrow and crawled towards it. The room was filled with a dim and strangely flickering light; Harry couldn't tell whether it was night or morning. 

When he poked his head out of the tall grass, Harry saw that a torch had been lit in the sconce by the door. The glass front of his tank had vanished and Voldemort was leaning inside, scarlet eyes fixed on the pond. 

'Wha --' said Harry blearily. 

Voldemort's hand shot out like a striking snake, into the water and out again with a particularly plump and juicy-looking frog clutched in its long spidery fingers. Voldemort popped the frog into his mouth. This woke Harry right up. 

'Ah, there you are,' said Voldemort when he'd finished swallowing the frog. He held out his arm, saying, 'Climb on.' 

Harry climbed on, his heart racing. It appeared that the hour was now at hand for the work that Voldemort had brought him here to do. 

Voldemort carried him through the door opposite the tank, which Harry had never before seen opened. Outside was a corridor. Voldemort walked along it until he came to a wooden panel carved with snakes. 

'_Open_,' hissed Voldemort. 

The panel slid aside to reveal a spiral staircase. Voldemort lit his wand and started down it. After what seemed like ages, the two of them reached the bottom. Harry found himself in a dark, windowless room with a dirt floor. 

Some thirty or so chairs -- one bigger and more ornate than the rest -- were arranged around a circular table. On the back of each chair was a large, square patch of a weird, silvery white, glowing material. The squares weren't entirely solid, rippling like water and sending out occasional wisps of vapour. In fact, they resembled nothing so much as firmed-up pieces of the substance in Dumbledore's Pensieve. 

The torches along the walls burst into flame. Voldemort stepped over to one of the chairs and tapped the square on its back with his wand. A picture of Harry became visible in it: the photo from Rita Skeeter's horrible Triwizard Tournament article. 

'Do you recognise this?' asked Voldemort. 

'Er -- yeah,' said Harry. 'It's -- it's the boy. From -- from the garden I used to live in.' 

'Very good,' said Voldemort. 'His name is Harry Potter.' 

Voldemort pointed his wand at the base of the nearest wall. Dirt began to bubble up from underneath it, leaving a gap between the wall and the floor. Voldemort leant down and let Harry slip off his arm. Harry saw that a small pit had been hollowed out below the wall. 

'You are to wait in there,' Voldemort said. 'In a few hours, some people will come and sit at the table. When they have all arrived and the torches go out, you shall come out, find the chair with Harry Potter's picture on the back and bite the person sitting in it.' 

'Er -- OK,' said Harry. 'But I'm not, you know, poisonous.' 

At least he didn't think he was. It felt as though it was the truth, however, and he'd been right about eating frogs. 

'That's quite all right, I don't expect you to kill _him_,' replied Voldemort. 'In you get.' 

Harry squeezed into the pit and lay coiled there, feeling Voldemort go up the stairs again. So this was it ... what he'd been waiting for all these weeks ... his last chance to ruin Voldemort's plans as completely as possible before he died. 

Yet Harry still had no more notion than ever of how this was to be accomplished. Voldemort had said Harry was to bite someone -- who? -- but _not_ kill him -- what use was that? And what did Harry's picture have to do with it? 

Harry could think of no satisfactory answers to any of these questions and the coldness of the room was making him sluggish and sleepy. Time passed, his thoughts drifted ... then an unpleasantly familiar sensation snapped them back into sharp focus. 

Something was dragging itself across the floor. The vibrations grew stronger and stronger, then abruptly cut off. A great amber eye appeared in the narrow fissure that led to Harry's pit. It was Nagini -- and now there was no glass to hold her at bay. 

Harry pushed himself as far back into the pit as he could get. Nagini sniffed at the entrance, but her head was much too large to fit through it. 

Harry let out a small spitting sigh of relief. Nagini couldn't get at him, and Voldemort would surely send her away when it came time for Harry to carry out his orders. 

Nagini drew back her head with a disgruntled hiss. Harry relaxed, loosening his coils and sliding forward a bit. Then -- 

'Yeuch!' he yelled. 

Nagini's head might have been too big for the mouth of the pit, but her tongue wasn't, and she'd just licked him in the face. This was no laughing matter; Nagini's tongue was nearly the size of Harry's head. 

Nagini flicked out her tongue again. Harry ducked his head amongst his coils to avoid getting hit in the face, but there wasn't enough room in the pit to move the rest of his body out of range. 

'Stop that!' he shouted indignantly. 'Go away! I'll tell of you!' 

Nagini gave him one last lick to show she could if she wanted to, and slithered off sniggering. Harry was left to wipe the snake spit off his face as best he could without hands. 

Not long afterwards, a load of quite scared-smelling wizards began Apparating into the room. To Harry's astonishment, they all seemed to be Death Eaters. They wore the same sort of hoods and masks, at any rate, and Harry was catching whiffs of brands of soap that he remembered from in the waiting room. 

When the Death Eaters had taken their seats at the table, Voldemort silently materialised in the great throne-like chair, adding his distinctive odour to the mix. He waved his wand and the torches extinguished themselves, leaving the room illuminated only by the eerie light from the shimmering squares, and his own burning red eyes. 

Harry crept from the pit, made his way over to the chairs and looked at the back of nearest one. On the square was a picture of Ginny Weasley, waving furiously. Harry came to an abrupt halt and gaped up at it. He noticed that Ginny looked rather younger than she actually was; after some study he recognised the image as being from a photo of the Weasleys taken in Egypt two summers ago and printed in the _Daily Prophet_. Somehow colour had been added and the rest of the family taken out. 

Good though it was to see a friendly face after so many weeks alone in the tank, the fact that Voldemort had a picture of Ginny Weasley did nothing for Harry's peace of mind. He went on to the next chair, which even more bizarrely contained a picture of Vincent Crabbe -- a fairly recent one as far as Harry could judge. Crabbe gave Harry a sullen look and cracked his knuckles. The chair after that had an image of Dumbledore, who smiled and winked at him. 

As he made his way around the table, Harry saw pictures of Ron and his brothers from the Egypt photo, Malfoy and Goyle, Viktor Krum from the Quidditch World Cup posters, Snape and Hagrid (the latter also from a Rita Skeeter article), Pansy Parkinson smiling coyly and several other students Harry had seen at Hogwarts but didn't know the names of. He did not, however, see any pictures of himself. 

Harry went round the table once more just to be sure, then stopped at the chair he'd started from. It now had an image of Bill Weasley on it. The pictures were evidently moving about, though still none of them were of Harry. 

'I can't find him!' Harry hissed at Voldemort. 'And I've been twice around the table!' 

'Keep searching,' replied Voldemort imperturbably. 'At your own pace, don't tire yourself. It may be a good while before he shows up.' 

During their conversation, the fear smell coming off the Death Eater in the chair Harry was behind had increased steadily. 

Harry continued around the table more slowly, wondering what on earth the point of this was. The Death Eaters were plainly terrified, but he couldn't understand of what. Was this some sort of spell? There didn't seem to be any magic being done -- no wand-waving, no chanting of incantations, nothing. 

Harry recalled the last spell of Voldemort's he had unwillingly assisted in. Wormtail had been gathering ingredients, mixing a potion ... no one here was doing anything ... just sitting and growing more and more frightened. 

The scent of terror filled the air -- except near Voldemort; he smelled much the way he had when Wormtail had lain writhing on the floor after being taken out of Harry's tank. The more petrified the Death Eaters grew, the more thoroughly Voldemort appeared to be enjoying the situation. Was that what this was about? Had Voldemort cooked up the whole thing merely to scare the Death Eaters? 

If that was the case, Harry thought as he proceeded round the table yet again, it might be best to go ahead and bite whoever happened to be sitting in front of his picture when it finally turned up. He saw very little opportunity here for making a last stand. 

The Death Eaters had wands inside their robes (Harry could smell the wood and polish), but even with the element of surprise he doubted he'd be able to wrest one away from its owner before the other Death Eaters got him. Even if he did, what damage could he do in the few seconds before he was killed? He'd be in the same fix he'd been in back at Tom Riddle's grave, but with no Portkey and no Priori Incantatem to save him. 

But what if he bit the man and these odd arrangements proved to be part of a real spell? Harry further reduced his speed, thinking hard. If Voldemort _was_ working a spell, the most likely target was Harry himself -- either to find him or to kill him would be his guess. 

If the spell was a deadly curse, though, Voldemort was taking an awful risk by using Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle's pictures. What if the snake made a mistake? That might be why the Death Eaters were so afraid, if their own children were in danger. Should Harry choose Malfoy's picture instead? 

As much as he hated Malfoy, he didn't really want him dead ... but killing Malfoy would rob Voldemort of his most effective servant at Hogwarts, and Ron and Hermione would definitely be a lot safer there if Malfoy was -- out of the picture. Harry choked down a fit of semi-hysterical laughter. 

In spite of all that, the thought of signing Malfoy's death warrant in such a manner was not a pleasant one. Harry had a sudden vision of Malfoy lying dead on the ground, staring at him accusingly with eyes as grey as Cedric's ... and what if he picked Malfoy's picture and it wasn't a spell after all? Harry shook his head angrily. He didn't know what to do, and his photo could be showing up at any minute. 

Then an even nastier possibility occurred to him. Might the purpose of the spell be to kill not only Harry, but everyone whose image was displayed in the circle? Harry wouldn't put it past Voldemort to sacrifice any number of his own followers to get rid of Albus Dumbledore, if that was what the enchantment required. Harry didn't dare bite anybody, and once his picture appeared, Voldemort was going to be very keen on knowing why not. 

Maybe he could claim that the wizard smelled so horrible he couldn't bring himself to do it. Harry suspected he wasn't the sort of snake that bit anyway; the idea of sinking his fangs into someone's leg held as little appeal as eating Wormtail had done. 

Even when Harry had been attacking the rat, he'd instinctively kept his jaws tight shut. Could he do that to the Death Eater? Strike at him close-mouthed and tell Voldemort his teeth must've missed? It was the best excuse he could come up with. If it wasn't good enough, he'd just have to go for a wand and die fighting. 

Harry carried on circling, feeling somewhat calmer now that he had a plan of action. As he passed behind Voldemort's chair for what felt like the thousandth time, Voldemort's excited smell became noticeably stronger. Several chairs further along, Harry stopped short. From a whitish silver square, his own face was staring back at him. 

Harry slithered under the chair and fluttered his tongue, drawing scent from the air. This Death Eater smelled rather less of fear than the others did -- also rather less of soap. Under his robes he was wearing leather boots that, unless Harry's nose deceived him, came roughly halfway to the knee. 

Harry wrapped his body round the leg of the chair, sighted a spot right above the Death Eater's boot and lunged, giving the man a good hard poke in the leg with his snout. Next instant, Harry darted beneath the table, stopping as close to the centre as he could manage. He didn't wish to be trampled if there was a panic, which he deemed all too likely considering how wound up the Death Eaters were. 

As it transpired, he needn't have bothered. The scent of fear from the poked wizard rose sharply and he gave a slight shudder, but otherwise didn't react. Nonetheless, Voldemort apparently knew something had happened -- the smell he had of being extremely pleased with himself also intensified. 

'Is it venomous?' the Death Eater asked, in an almost steady voice. 

Harry jerked his head in shock. That voice, unmistakeably, belonged to Professor Snape. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	4. Serpent at Malfoy Manor

  
  


— CHAPTER FOUR — 

_Serpent at Malfoy Manor_

  
Voldemort laughed, a cold, high-pitched laugh that filled the tiny room and reverberated through Harry's very bones. Harry trembled with fright; the smell of the Death Eaters' terror grew chokingly thick. 

'Not yet,' Voldemort said, once the last echoes of his laughter had died away. 'That will be all for tonight. You may go.' 

The scent of human fear faded slowly from the room as the Death Eaters Disapparated. 

'You can come out now,' said Voldemort, sticking his head under the table. 'Well done.' 

Heart still thumping hard against his many ribs, Harry crawled over to Voldemort's chair and on to his outstretched arm. 

He spent the trip back to the waiting room in a daze. Not only had nothing magical happened, Voldemort didn't even appear to realise that Harry hadn't actually bitten anyone. Had Voldemort merely been playing a nasty joke on the Death Eaters after all? It seemed too good to be true that the job Harry had been so dreading should turn out to be no more than a stupid game. 

But really, Harry thought, once he was back in his burrow, what kind of work _could_ a snake that was barely two foot long and non-venomous have done for Voldemort? He had Nagini for any truly important missions ... If all he wanted from Harry was a means of bullying his servants, Harry could afford to bide his time until he found a way to perpetrate some genuinely damaging piece of sabotage. Or maybe one day Voldemort would take Nagini with him on one of his errands, leaving the coast clear for Harry to slip away. In the meantime, Harry might yet overhear something useful. 

With these comforting thoughts, Harry rested his head on his coils to sleep, in better spirits than he had been in at any time since being put into the tank. 

* 

After that night, life in the waiting room went on as normal. Harry had been a prisoner of Voldemort for nearly five weeks, plus the unknown number of days he'd lost track of when he'd been so miserable about dying. His initial burst of optimism notwithstanding, Harry knew that it could be months or even years before any of the opportunities he was waiting for arose. 

Now that there was no mysterious task looming over him, Harry was left adrift and curiously lethargic. When Nagini came into the waiting room, he stayed put on his rock, to her obvious annoyance, even when she slithered right up to the glass and tapped lightly on it with her snout. It wasn't that Harry had decided to finally stand up to her; he just didn't feel like moving. 

He didn't feel like doing much of anything, really, although he did wonder a bit about Snape's presence amongst the Death Eaters. Evidently Snape had somehow convinced Voldemort of his loyalty. 

Or had he? Why had Voldemort chosen _him_ to be bitten? 

Perhaps it was simply because Snape had been the least scared of the Death Eaters. Harry had come to the conclusion that Voldemort, so much like a snake in other ways, had almost as keen a sense of smell. On the other hand, it could have been meant as a warning, if Voldemort didn't fully trust Snape and wanted to let him know he had his eye on him. 

Harry briefly considered asking Snape to help him escape, but quickly discarded this notion. He didn't fully trust Snape either. 

Even if Snape _was_ on their side, if he heard a snake speaking to him with Harry's voice, he might well assume that Voldemort was testing him and report the occurrence. Worse, if Snape tried to smuggle Harry out and got caught, they'd both end up dead, and Harry would have cost Dumbledore a valuable spy. 

In any case, it was doubtful that Harry would be able to recognise Snape again under his mask and hood. None of the Death Eaters ever spoke aloud in the waiting room, and Harry couldn't gamble on distinguishing Snape by smell. It would be all too easy to mistakenly pick out some other Death Eater who happened not to have washed recently. 

The Death Eaters didn't seem to be calling on Voldemort as often as they used to, and only once did a visit result in one of them being tortured. This occasion served as a sharp reminder to Harry that he was still in a quite serious fix. 

Even so, he didn't see what further action he could take. All the watching, thinking, planning and worrying he had done since being captured had accomplished nothing ... nothing but to leave him too tired and drained to do any more. Harry couldn't even manage to be properly frightened when, one cloudy afternoon, Voldemort took him from his tank and brought him into the study. 

* 

Voldemort sat down at his desk and stared at the door he and Harry had just come through. He seemed to be waiting for something. Harry, twined about Voldemort's arm, had a surreptitious look around the room. 

The bookshelves held considerably more books than they had done the last time Harry had been in the study. Above the fireplace hung a black silk banner emblazoned with a Dark Mark in shades of green -- a livid pale green skull and a poisonous bright green snake, drawn with dull dark green lines. The top of the desk was completely empty; the bronze toad, the emerald and most importantly the knife were nowhere to be seen. 

So much for using it to attack Voldemort, Harry thought glumly. He wasn't at all sure that that would have done any good, though, when not even the dreaded Avada Kedavra Curse had sufficed to finish Voldemort off. If Harry did somehow contrive to stab him, he'd probably pluck the knife out of his heart, toss it aside and laugh. 

Harry swung his head back to keep a watch on Voldemort. There was a strong odour about him that Harry couldn't identify -- not enjoyment as when he was terrorising the Death Eaters, and not fear either. Then a smell that _was_ fear wafted under the door from the waiting room -- someone had Apparated. 

'Enter,' said Voldemort curtly. 

The door opened and a masked, hooded wizard slipped into the room. He closed the door, dropped to his knees and crawled towards the desk. 

Voldemort gazed down at the Death Eater for several endless moments, then said in a deadly quiet voice, 'I had a rather interesting conversation last Sunday with a Madam Enid Kelly.' 

The apprehensive smell from the Death Eater became more pronounced. Harry gave a twitch of surprise. Last year at Hogwarts, Madam Kelly was caught trying to steal a Famous Witches and Wizards card of Harry from Professor Snape. 

Harry couldn't imagine why this should interest Voldemort, however, or what it had to do with the wizard on the floor. Harry was fairly certain he wasn't Snape -- not tall or thin enough, and there was a noticeably soapier smell to him. 

'They nearly called off the Triwizard Tournament, you know,' Voldemort continued in the same soft, menacing tone. 'Couldn't be having foreign visitors with a mad Transfigurer on the loose. If there had been one more incident ...' 

Harry's forehead was throbbing dully. He considered this an extremely bad sign. In all his time in the tank, his scar hadn't so much as twinged, and that with Voldemort not only in quite close proximity, but on some occasions very angry indeed, judging by the screams Harry had heard coming from the study. 

Voldemort's elongated white fingers clutched the edge of the desk so hard that his hands shook. The unidentifiable smell coming off him grew stronger, and Harry realised what it must be: pure rage. The Death Eater quailed. 

'My Lord ... I didn't know ...' he said hoarsely. 

Harry twitched again -- the kneeling wizard was Lucius Malfoy. 

Unnerved though he was by the odd turn the situation had taken, Harry couldn't help but feel a degree of spiteful satisfaction as he remembered Draco Malfoy's last words to him on the Hogwarts Express. He wondered whether Malfoy would be so pleased with the side he had chosen if he could see his father now, cringing before Lord Voldemort. 

'Thought you'd have Gryffindor's legacy all for yourself, did you?' Voldemort snarled. 'Well, I have been going through the Potter family's background with a fine-toothed comb, and James Potter was no more the heir of Gryffindor than you are! Snape was not passing me disinformation after all -- that spell Wormtail told us about was something completely different.' 

His voice fell to a near whisper. 'Thirteen years, all for nothing ...' 

The wood of the desk began to smoke where Voldemort had dug his fingers into it. The smell of his anger was overpowering, but it was as nothing compared to the effect of his words on Harry. He mustn't react, Harry thought wildly, he mustn't give himself away. Then he was almost flung off Voldemort's arm when Voldemort stood abruptly, yanking out his wand. 

'Thirteen years in which you did nothing but plunder what I left behind for your own gain!' he hissed at Mr Malfoy. '_Crucio!_' 

Lucius Malfoy's agonised shrieks filled the air. Harry shivered in mingled shock at what he had just heard and terror at the horrible noises Mr Malfoy was making. Then Voldemort lifted his wand and the screaming stopped. Mr Malfoy lay on the floor, gasping. 

'You deserve far worse than that,' said Voldemort coldly, 'but this time I need you able to Apparate.' 

Mr Malfoy's scent changed -- there was still fear, but also something else. 

'Yes, Lucius, I'm giving you one last chance,' said Voldemort. 'Do you know what this is?' 

He stepped out from behind the desk and thrust the arm Harry was wrapped around into Mr Malfoy's face. Mr Malfoy and Harry both recoiled. 

'It -- it is a snake, my Lord,' said Mr Malfoy, sounding both bewildered and petrified. 

'Yes,' said Voldemort. 'A snake. A common, harmless grass snake. A common, harmless grass snake that can recognise Harry Potter.' 

He went back to the desk, opened a drawer, took out a small, roughly hewn wooden box and raised its lid. Inside was a ring, its band a pair of entwined copper serpents. A jewel that resembled a golden moonstone was balanced between their heads. 

'And do you know what _this_ is?' Voldemort asked, holding the box so Mr Malfoy could see its contents. 

'An Aitvaras Eye!' breathed Mr Malfoy in sudden comprehension. Harry was left just as perplexed as before. 

'Your son will be returning to Hogwarts tomorrow --' said Voldemort. 

Another jolt of surprise went through Harry. He hadn't realised term would be starting so soon. 

'-- wearing an old family heirloom and bringing a new animal with him,' Voldemort went on. 'Young Draco has Care of Magical Creatures with Harry Potter. Before his first lesson, he will work the Aitvaras transformation on Seeker -- it is a fairly simple spell. I am given to understand that the class is now being taught by that brainless, monster-loving oaf Rubeus Hagrid ...' 

Voldemort paused for a brief sneer, then said, 'There have been questions raised at the highest levels of the Ministry of Magic concerning Albus Dumbledore's fitness to stay on as Headmaster of Hogwarts ... questions concerning his disastrous staff appointments, his mishandling of disruptive pupils, his mad stories about the Dark Lord having returned ...' 

A nasty grin played about Voldemort's lipless mouth. 'When Harry Potter is _tragically_ bitten and killed by one of Dumbledore's tame giant's dangerous pets, I believe these questions will be answered once and for all.' 

Voldemort gave a final smirk and began hissing to Harry in Parseltongue. 'I am sending you away with this man. His son will bring you to Harry Potter. You are to bite him as you did the wizard in the cellar. After that, you will make your way back to me. Do you understand?' 

'I'm to bite Harry Potter and come back to you,' repeated Harry mechanically. He neither knew nor cared how Voldemort expected him to find this place again. He was going back to Hogwarts! 

'I have given Seeker his instructions,' Voldemort told Mr Malfoy. 'He has proven himself most capable of following orders promptly and reliably. Nonetheless, he will need careful looking after. He is skittish and easily frightened -- even with me, and snakes usually aren't. I suspect he may have been struck on the head at some point -- he has suffered episodes of confusion and disorientation, and that groove between his eyes isn't natural.' 

Voldemort ran a finger down Harry's head, starting right where his scar would have been, had Harry been human. Harry gave an involuntary shudder. 

'I am holding you personally responsible for the success of this plan, Lucius.' Voldemort's voice grew arctically cold. 'Take better care of my Aitvaras than you did of my Basilisk.' 

Voldemort conjured up a cage made of green, lacquered wood and had Harry slither into it. He handed the cage and the box with the ring to Mr Malfoy, who crawled backwards on his knees to the door before standing up again. 

Voldemort's study faded from Harry's view, replaced by a bedroom as large as the entire first storey of the Dursleys' house. The velvet curtains on the windows and the bed (which was big enough for Hagrid to have slept in comfortably) were a shade of red so dark as to be nearly black, with silver-grey ties and trim. A rug the same colour with a pattern of silvery lines along the borders covered most of the floor. 

Mr Malfoy set Harry's cage down very gently on a marble-topped bedside table. He pulled off his mask and cloak, bundled them up and shoved the lot under the bed whilst muttering an incantation. Harry was reminded of the loose floorboard under his own bed in Privet Drive. 

Mr Malfoy staggered through a door into what Harry presumed was a bathroom. Retching noises and the smell of vomit soon reached Harry's cage. 

When Mr Malfoy came out, he had a small crystal phial of milky white potion in his hand. Sitting rather shakily on the edge of the bed, he tossed it down in one gulp, then curled up on top of the bedspread still fully dressed. After a while, his breathing slowed and his fearful scent diminished. He appeared to have fallen asleep. 

Harry was left to his own astounded thoughts. He was scarcely able to believe his luck. Everything he had struggled so futilely to achieve all those weeks in the tank had been delivered to him on a silver platter: escape, a means of frustrating Voldemort's plans, even information of a sort to take back with him. 

Voldemort himself was the heir of Slytherin; apparently Slytherin's old rival Gryffindor also had an heir. Harry couldn't see how knowing that James Potter _wasn't_ the heir of Gryffindor would be of much use to Dumbledore, though. If only Voldemort had said who was ... He'd mentioned something about a spell ... 

Then the full implications of what Harry had overheard in Voldemort's study hit him like a rogue Bludger. Voldemort had murdered Harry's father because he thought James Potter was the heir of Gryffindor. Wormtail had told him so, Wormtail and Snape ... except it wasn't true. Harry's parents had died for no reason. 

A corrosive mixture of bitter rage and aching sorrow surged through Harry. _Thirteen years, all for nothing ..._ Voldemort had been restored to his body, but no magic could bring back James and Lily Potter. Wormtail had betrayed them, not once but twice. 

Harry raised his head and struck at his own coils in thwarted fury. He should have killed Wormtail when he had the chance. He should have bit him till he bled to death; he should have dragged him to the pond and drowned him. He should have eaten him if he had to. And Snape, whom Dumbledore trusted -- 

Mr Malfoy rolled over and murmured in his sleep. 

Harry checked himself in mid-strike. If Lucius Malfoy woke and thought the snake was having some sort of fit, he might return it to Voldemort for examination. Harry dared not let that happen. Now more than ever, he had to get back to Hogwarts -- Dumbledore needed to be warned about Snape. 

Harry forced himself to lie still, forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths. He mustn't dwell on his parents' deaths right now. He had to put the whole thing from his mind. He had to think of something else ... think of Hogwarts, of seeing Ron and Hermione, of playing Quidditch, of Cho Chang ... 

By the time Mr Malfoy finally did wake up, Harry had -- almost -- got himself calm again. 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

_Thank you to everyone who wrote a review for this story; I really appreciate it. A couple of questions were asked in the reviews that won't be properly answered in the story itself, hence this author's note._

What was going on with the pictures? 

As you may have figured out from this chapter, Voldemort was testing the snake to see if it could recognise Harry Potter in a crowd. The squares on the backs of the chairs were basically magical television screens showing different photos in a randomly changing sequence. Voldemort did control when and where Harry's picture showed up; he picked Snape's chair more or less for the reasons Harry thought. 

The other pictures were all of people who had recently been at Hogwarts, and of whom Voldemort could easily obtain photographs. Harry, the Weasleys and Hagrid came from the _Daily Prophet_, Dumbledore's famous enough that there are pictures of him floating around everywhere and Viktor Krum was on all those Quidditch World Cup posters. Most of the other photos Voldemort got directly from the Death Eaters -- their children, their children's friends, their friend's children and, in Snape's case, himself. Note that Voldemort didn't tell them _why_ he wanted these pictures, or what was going on with the chairs. This was partly for security purposes and partly to mess with their minds as a punishment for abandoning him. 

Why didn't Harry want to eat Wormtail? 

Apart from it being too much like cannibalism, Harry could instinctively tell that Wormtail really was a bit too large for him to swallow. Also, as Voldemort said, Harry is a grass snake (_Natrix natrix helvetica_). Grass snakes have no way of killing their prey before eating it -- they aren't venomous and can't use their coils for crushing. Because of this, they normally don't eat live mammals, which unlike frogs have claws and teeth, and could attack the snake while being swallowed. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	5. Serpent on the Hogwarts Express

  
  


— CHAPTER FIVE — 

_Serpent on the Hogwarts Express_

  
Mr Malfoy took Harry's cage down two flights of stairs to a large, airy drawing room. Putting the cage on an end table, he called out sharply, 'Bandy!' 

A house-elf with ears so long they flopped over and a tiny round button of a nose appeared with a crack. Mr Malfoy drew back his foot and kicked the unfortunate creature like a football, sending it the bouncing across the room squealing with pain. 

Lucius Malfoy was bearing down upon the elf to give it another kick when Harry's outraged hiss halted him in his tracks -- apparently he remembered what Voldemort had said about the snake being easily upset. 

'Silence this instant!' spat Mr Malfoy. 'Else I'll give you something to squeal about!' 

The house-elf clapped its long fingers over its mouth, its goggling eyes going wider still with terror. 

'Now go and tell Draco I want to see him in here at once,' Mr Malfoy ordered. 

The elf vanished, and a few minutes later Draco Malfoy came swaggering into the room. When his father informed him of the task the Dark Lord had assigned him, Malfoy's pale face lit up with glee and he gave off an odour unpleasantly reminiscent of Voldemort's when he was torturing someone. Using a ruby ring from his own finger, Mr Malfoy taught Draco a simple charm to pop out the stone and then a slightly more complex one which, combined with the jewel from the ring Voldemort had given to him, would evidently turn Harry into an Aitvaras, whatever that was. 

Once Malfoy had mastered the wand movements of the spell to his father's satisfaction, Lucius had him very carefully take Harry out of the cage to practise on. Harry was sorely tempted to get his own back on both of them by being as uncooperative as possible, but didn't dare risk jeopardising his return trip to Hogwarts. So he put up no resistance when Malfoy laid him on the table, held him rather tightly at the neck and balanced the ruby on top of his head. 

Despite Harry's good behaviour, Mr Malfoy's frightened smell returned in full measure the second that his son touched the snake. When Draco (unaccustomed to working charms whilst bent over an end table using his other hand to pin down a serpent) had some initial difficulty managing the spell, his father grew quite snappish and short with him. This in turn caused Malfoy to become sullen and ill-tempered and even less able to do the thing properly. 

It took him twice as long it normally would have to get the hang of the Aitvaras Charm, and he gave Harry several painful squeezes in the process. Harry had to work extremely hard to stop himself hissing with irritation, which would have only made Mr Malfoy more nervy yet and drawn the proceedings out that much longer. Mr Malfoy made Draco keep at it until he had cast the spell correctly seven times in a row. Even though the real Aitvaras Eye wasn't being used, a nasty shiver went down Harry's spine each instance the charm was successfully completed. 

'... and try to get it right the first time when you do it at Hogwarts,' Mr Malfoy said coldly, as Draco left the room still looking thoroughly put out. 

* 

Lucius Malfoy seemed to take very seriously Voldemort's admonition to take special care with the snake. He didn't let Harry's cage out of his sight for the rest of the day and placed it in close reach on the bedside table that night. This resulted in some coolness towards him on the part of his wife Narcissa, who felt that the presence of such a drab and unprepossessing creature subtracted markedly from the bedroom's decor. To her even greater displeasure, Mr Malfoy insisted on bringing Harry down to breakfast with him the next morning, keeping the cage on the table right beside his plate. 

When Draco arrived in the breakfast room, he was wearing his Hogwarts robes. Pinned to his chest was a bright silver badge with the letter _P_ on it. Harry gazed at the badge resentfully, but it was only to be expected that Malfoy would be made a prefect -- he was Snape's favourite student amongst the Slytherins. 

But thinking of Snape brought on too many other unhappy thoughts. To distract himself, Harry turned his attention to the Malfoys' sideboard, which was laden with more hot dishes than he had seen on the tables at most Hogwarts feasts: bacon, sausages, ham and smoked fish; eggs cooked five different ways; porridge and newly-baked rolls with marmalade, honey, cream, butter and seven kinds of jam; fried mushrooms and tomatoes and an enormous bowl of fruit, as well as a number of highly peculiar-looking foods Harry couldn't even put a name to. 

Mrs Malfoy was shooting affronted looks at him between bites of what appeared to be a thick slice of clear jelly on toast. When Harry fluttered his tongue at her, attempting to identify the curious substance by scent, she pushed her breakfast away half-eaten, a revolted expression on her face. 

Harry considered this something of a waste. The clear jelly had an enticing odour of prawns to it and was practically the only food on the table he could have brought himself to eat as a snake. To varying degrees the rest of the dishes smelled burnt, greasy, over-salted or rotten. It was weird for Harry to remember how good they had all tasted to him when he was human. 

After breakfast, Draco and his parents went out the manor together. Parked near the massive oak front door was a dark red, silver-trimmed Aston Martin being driven by a man who looked a lot like Malfoy's friend Goyle. The resemblance was easy to spot, as Goyle himself sat in the front seat beside the driver. Malfoy's other friend Crabbe was sitting in the back. 

Mrs Malfoy hugged and kissed her son and Mr Malfoy handed him Harry's cage. Draco climbed into the back seat with Crabbe and the car started off down the long and winding drive. 

Crabbe and Goyle immediately leant over to get a better view of Harry. Malfoy told them impressively but vaguely that he had been entrusted with the snake as part of a special mission for the Dark Lord. He had hardly finished speaking when a low rumble went through the car. Seconds later, it pulled to a halt, much to Harry's surprise. They hadn't been driving for five minutes; surely Malfoy Manor couldn't be that close to King's Cross station? Had the car broken down? 

But when the doors opened, they were inside platform nine and three-quarters. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle scrambled out of the car and made their way towards the Hogwarts Express. Malfoy brought Harry's cage with him, but neither he nor his two cronies were carrying any other luggage. When they stepped into a compartment near the front of the train, however, three trunks were waiting for them in the luggage racks. 

Harry thought gloomily of his own trunk, left behind at Mrs Figg's so many weeks ago. No doubt she'd given it to the Dursleys when they returned from Majorca. He didn't relish the prospect of trying to get it back from them, not after what Voldemort had done to the house and garden. A vision of Uncle Vernon's large, purple face, screwed up with wrath, floated before Harry's eyes. He shuddered. 

Could an entire trunk be sent by owl post? Harry devoutly hoped that he wouldn't have to go back to Privet Drive and fetch his things personally. Even the ten months of the school year felt like far too short a time before having to face his aunt and uncle again. Maybe he could ask Dumbledore to let him stay at Hogwarts next summer holidays ... 

When Malfoy and his friends had settled into their seats, the three of them began discussing how immensely improved Hogwarts would be once Voldemort took over. Or rather Malfoy began holding forth on the subject whilst Crabbe and Goyle listened, giving the occasional grunt or snigger in response. 

'... at least we won't be having to put up with Dumbledore for much longer ... or that ugly great moron Hagrid, or _famous_ Harry Potter. And once the Dark Lord's properly back in power, all the Mudbloods'll be thrown out, and Muggle-lovers like the Weasleys ...' 

Malfoy's thin mouth curved into a malevolent smirk. 

'Well, maybe we'll keep Granger around. We can use that bushy head of hers to scrub the toilets.' 

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled stupidly. Harry tensed his coils in fury. 

'Professor Snape will be able teach us the Dark Arts,' Malfoy went on. 'He knows some really good curses, but he says he won't show them to me until I'm older.' 

A petulant note crept into Malfoy's voice. 

'And Father's just as bad ... Once I've carried out the job the Dark Lord gave me, perhaps he'll stop treating me like a child ...' 

With a small spluttering noise, Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. The task Voldemort wished Malfoy to perform was an impossible one, though neither of them realised it. Considering what Harry had seen of how Voldemort customarily treated failure on the part his supporters, Malfoy would be lucky if all the Dark Lord did to him was use his hair to clean toilets. 

As for Snape, he wasn't going to be teaching anything at Hogwarts after Harry told Dumbledore what he'd done. At the memory of the Potions master's treachery, Harry's insides churned with anger once more. He had half a mind to let Malfoy go ahead and transform him into a poisonous snake, so he could bite Snape. 

The conversation then turned to Slytherin's Quidditch prospects for the upcoming year. Malfoy seemed to take it as given that he'd be made captain now that Marcus Flint had left Hogwarts, and promised to install Crabbe and Goyle as Beaters. A little later Pansy Parkinson came into the compartment to simper at Malfoy and admire his prefect badge. 

When the lunch trolley arrived, Malfoy bought huge quantities of sweets and pasties, nearly all of which were pigged by Crabbe and Goyle. After his fourth stack of cauldron cakes, Goyle left off stuffing himself long enough to try feeding Harry a Jelly Slug. Its smell was indescribably repulsive to Harry now that he was a snake -- he'd've rather eaten a real slug as a human being. Harry buried his face amongst his coils to block out the stench. Goyle shrugged and ate the Jelly Slug himself. 

In the afternoon Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle went off to visit friends in other compartments. As soon as the vibrations of their footsteps faded away, Harry had a go at the door of his cage. It was a simple up-and-down sliding door, and no one had troubled to fasten it shut. By pressing his nose firmly against the horizontal bar at the bottom and raising his head, Harry was able to lift it sufficiently to wriggle underneath. 

He could have got out of the cage at that point, but chose not to. If he, Harry, suddenly turned up on the Hogwarts Express, he'd have a lot of explaining to do, which he didn't really feel up to at present. If he reappeared in Malfoy's compartment at the same time that Malfoy's snake vanished, someone might put two and two together. Being a secret shape-shifter was the only thing that had saved Harry from Voldemort -- he wasn't eager to give that secret away. 

If he waited until the other students were at the feast, then sneaked off and lay low until morning, it ought to put enough time between the snake's disappearance and Harry's arrival to confuse matters a bit. Thus Harry lay quietly in his cage as the Hogwarts Express continued on its journey north. 

The door of the compartment had been left wide open, allowing him to eavesdrop on what people were saying in the corridor. The main topic of discussion was Harry himself. By now the whole train knew he wasn't aboard, and mad stories were flying around as to why. 

News of what had happened to the Dursleys' house had spread like wildfire, although the damage was greatly exaggerated. Rumours ranged from number four being completely flattened to the entire street having been left a smoking ruin. The Dursleys themselves were universally presumed dead, and so, for some reason, was Rita Skeeter. Harry's fate was the subject of some debate: murdered, in hiding or on the run from Magical Law Enforcement, being himself responsible for the carnage. 

Other suspects included Voldemort, Sirius Black, students from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons (to pay Harry back for winning the Triwizard Tournament), members of the Diggory family or Hufflepuff house (in revenge for Harry's supposed murder of Cedric) and, most disquietingly, Albus Dumbledore having faked the whole thing to convince the Ministry of Magic that Voldemort truly had returned. 

Certainly Malfoy professed to believe the latter theory. 

'Of course I don't think he's dead,' he was snapping at Crabbe as they re-entered the compartment. 'Father says Dumbledore's hidden him somewhere and is staying quiet about it to put the pressure on the Ministry. Just you wait, he'll be back at the Gryffindor table by the time the Sorting starts.' 

Harry spent the rest of the trip in a very subdued frame of mind. When he was trapped in Voldemort's hideout, he hadn't given a second thought to what might be going on in the outside world -- he'd had too many other things to worry about. The snatches of talk he'd overheard had served as a nasty reminder of what he was escaping _to_: a school that suspected he was dangerous and disturbed and had killed Cedric Diggory, and a Ministry of Magic that refused to accept that Voldemort was back and was at odds with the one man who stood some chance of stopping him. Worse, it looked as though Harry's disappearance over the summer had only added fuel to the fire ... 

Once the train arrived at Hogsmeade station and all the students disembarked, Harry wasted no time in squirming under the cage door. He glided down the carriage, peering into open compartments. If he could conceal himself in a Gryffindor's luggage, he'd be taken straight to Gryffindor Tower. Unfortunately, it hadn't occurred to any of his fellow Gryffindors to write their house name on their trunks. 

Just as Harry was starting to panic, he heard familiar loud spitting sounds issuing forth from of one the doors he had just passed. Doubling back, he saw that the source of the noises was a small wickerwork basket lying on the floor. On top of a nearby seat was a cage with a maroon velvet cover that suspiciously resembled Ron's old dress robes. The instant Harry stuck his head into the compartment, Pigwidgeon added his mad twitters to Crookshanks' angry hissing. 

'Crookshanks, Pig!' gasped Harry in relief. 'It's all right, it's me, Harry!' 

The spitting from the basket grew even louder and it began to rock from side to side. Harry hastily changed back into himself, slid the compartment door shut, crouched down and unfastened the straps of the basket. Crookshanks emerged, purring as Harry patted him. 

'Crookshanks, I need to hide,' Harry whispered urgently. 'I'll have to turn into a snake. Don't -- don't try and eat me or anything, OK?' 

Crookshanks purred harder than ever. Harry transformed, ready to become human again at any moment should Crookshanks -- now the size of an elephant from his perspective -- attack. But Crookshanks didn't attack; instead he placed his front paws on the rim of the basket and tipped it onto its side. Standing away from basket's mouth, Crookshanks fixed his great yellow eyes unblinkingly on Harry. 

Harry, realising what Crookshanks wanted, slithered inside. Crookshanks pulled the basket upright, leapt in and caught his claws on the lid, drawing it shut. He prodded Harry to the rear of the basket and curled himself up in the front, still purring softly. 

It was dark inside the basket and naturally smelled quite strongly of cat, but Harry didn't mind -- soon he'd be safe in Gryffindor Tower. Outside, Pigwidgeon was finally beginning to calm down. Harry made a mental note to ask Ron to send him to fetch Hedwig first thing in the morning. She'd been off carrying a letter to The Burrow at the time Harry was captured by Voldemort, which had been of some comfort to Harry when he was languishing in the tank. Whilst the Dursleys' deep fear of magic had likely kept them from damaging his trunk, if Mrs Figg had turned Hedwig over to them they'd've probably had her stuffed and mounted. 

Loud cracking noises and the shrill voices of house-elves suddenly filled the compartment. Tiny footsteps pattered over to the basket, then stopped. The basket jerked slightly and a sound like two firecrackers going off one after the other rent the air. 

Harry heard several more distant cracks and felt a number of muffled thuds. After some time had passed since the last one, Crookshanks pushed open the lid of the basket and had a look around. Apparently seeing nothing amiss, he hopped out and pulled the basket over so Harry could crawl out. 

Harry found himself inside a circular room which apart from small differences in the furnishings was indistinguishable from his own dormitory. He wormed his way beneath the red velvet hangings of the nearest four-poster and coiled up in the corner by the bedside table to wait for daybreak. 

It was quite cold under the bed, but there wasn't anywhere else in the room for him to hide. Harry couldn't afford to be discovered inside the castle that night, either as a serpent or as himself. Malfoy had to believe that his snake -- Harry gave a huge yawn -- that his snake had disappeared off the Hogwarts Express into thin air. Then tomorrow ... when Harry showed up ... no one would ... no one would ... 

Harry was jogged awake by the reverberation of many feet pounding the floor. There seemed to be an enormously large number of Death Eaters about. Odd, that -- Voldemort had never previously summoned more than one at a time to attend him in his study. Harry's tongue flickered weakly. The Death Eaters didn't smell as scared as they usually did, and, strangest of all, they were all women. 

'Hermione?' said Lavender Brown. 

'I'm all right, Lavender,' said Hermione. 

She didn't sound all right to Harry. 

'We don't _know_ he's dead, you heard Dumbledore,' said Parvati Patil, in what was clearly meant to be a bracing tone. 'He may still turn up.' 

That was rather decent of her, thought Harry muzzily. Given how Parvati and Lavender hero-worshipped Madam Trelawney, who was constantly predicting Harry's death, there was no way the pair of them could truly believe he hadn't been killed. 

The vibrations in the floor died away as the fifth-year girls settled quickly down to sleep. Harry was dimly aware of Hermione opening and closing her trunk, walking around a bit, then climbing into bed. A short while after the lamps went out, Harry heard a muffled sobbing from directly above him. 

He should say something to Hermione, he should let her know he was still alive. Harry struggled to uncoil himself, but it felt as though his body had turned to lead ... 

He must have drifted off again, because the next thing he registered was a paw on the back of his neck and the smell of cat on his tongue. 

'Crrrr --' Harry tried to say the cat's name, but his voice was as frozen as the rest of him. 

Crookshanks sniffed at Harry, then lay down beside him, purring worriedly. Slowly, the heat from the cat's body began to thaw Harry out. Once he was able to move a little, Harry heaved himself on top of Crookshanks to bask. Luckily Crookshanks made no objection to this. 

Crookshanks was as warm as Harry's rock and considerably softer, and within minutes Harry was feeling more awake and alert than he had done all day. Everyone else appeared to be sleeping, though; the room was silent and utterly still. If Harry tried to wake Hermione, he'd run a serious risk of having the whole dormitory find out he was there. He had no reason to disturb her rest, anyway. She'd be seeing him as soon as she -- 

It abruptly dawned on Harry that the absolute last place he wanted to make his reappearance at Hogwarts was in a girls' dormitory under Hermione's bed. He'd have to sneak over to the boy's side, once he was certain that everyone in Gryffindor Tower had gone to sleep. 

Harry poked his head beneath the curtains and looked up at the alarm clock on Hermione's bedside table. It was nearly midnight -- better to hold off a couple of hours before making his move. Harry crawled back to drape his coils over Crookshanks once more. This time Crookshanks raised his head and gave Harry a grumpy look. 

'Just for a bit longer,' said Harry in his lowest voice. 

He was afraid he might freeze up again if he strayed too far from the cat's warmth. It was much colder at Hogwarts than it had been in his tank. Being cold-blooded, Harry had always grown sleepier and slower of evening, but never to the point of not being able to wake up properly. 

When it was two o'clock, Harry slithered out from under the bed, muttering gratefully to Crookshanks as he left, 'Next time we have kippers for breakfast, you can have all of mine.' 

He transformed himself, quietly opened the door and crept down the girls' staircase, across the dark common room, up the boys' staircase and into the fifth-year dormitory at the very top. Harry had intended to spend the night under Ron's bed as a snake, perhaps taking a shirt from Ron's trunk with him so he wouldn't have to lie on the icy stone floor. When he stepped into the room, however, he saw that his own four-poster was still in its place. 

It had been weeks since Harry had slept in a proper bed. Surely no one would be checking in it until morning? Harry kicked off his trainers, crawled beneath the blankets, drew the hangings and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

_Thanks to everyone who wrote reviews. Here are answers to a couple of the questions asked._

Aren't most grass snakes closer to one foot long than two? 

Not _Natrix natrix_ -- according to _The Snakes of Europe_, the average length of a full-grown male is around two and half feet. This is the European or Old World Grass Snake; in the US there are other species commonly called "grass snakes" that are actually types of green snake or garter snake. Note that a snake on the ground may look shorter than it is if seen from a distance and/or moving along in curves. 

How did Snape know it was a snake that poked his leg? Why wasn't he as scared as the other Death Eaters? 

Snape knew it was a snake because he'd heard Voldemort speaking to it in Parseltongue (in Chapter 3, after Harry had first gone around the circle and was telling Voldemort he couldn't find his picture). Snape smelled less afraid partly because he really is one of the braver Death Eaters and partly because he'd taken a potion before coming, which among other things affected his scent. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	6. The Boy Who Returned

  
  


— CHAPTER SIX — 

_The Boy Who Returned_

  
Harry was woken next morning by the thumpings and murmurings of his fellow fifth-years getting dressed. He sat up, yawned and, without really thinking about it, twitched back the hangings of his four-poster. At the foot of the bed beside Harry's, Ron Weasley was bending over his trunk. 

'Ron!' said Harry happily. 

Ron straightened up slowly, with an almost comical expression of absolute astonishment. He stood rooted to the spot, goggling at Harry. His face had gone totally white, freckles standing out in stark relief. He looked as though he was about to faint. 

'Ron?' said Harry, now a bit concerned. 

Ron abruptly found his voice. 

'I DON'T BELIEVE IT!' he yelled. 'WE THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD! WHERE HAVE YOU _BEEN?_' 

'Ron, it was Voldemort, he came to my house,' said Harry. 'I --' 

He broke off. Seamus, Dean and Neville had gathered in the centre of the circular dormitory to gape at him, Dean and Seamus with great interest, Neville seeming quite terrified. Harry couldn't tell Ron he'd transformed into a serpent while they were listening on. 

'We thought you were _dead_,' Ron repeated, staring at Harry like a Muggle seeing a ghost. 

'I'm sorry,' said Harry, as he climbed out of bed. 'I would've let you know if I could, but I was -- I didn't -- I had to stay hidden.' 

'But where _were_ you?' demanded Ron. 'The Ministry looked everywhere ... _Dumbledore_ looked everywhere ...' 

Harry stepped close to Ron and muttered, 'I'll tell you later in private, I can't explain in front of them.' In a more normal tone he said, 'We need to go and see Hermione, she was crying last night.' 

Ron eyed Harry rather strangely, but accompanied him towards the door. As they approached Neville Longbottom, Harry noticed a shiny silver badge with a 'P' on it, pinned to his robes slightly askew. 

'All right, Neville, you're a prefect,' said Harry brightly. 

Neville jumped and gave a tiny squeak. 

'What's the new password, then?' 

Neville gazed at Harry in utter bewilderment. 

'It's "constant vigilance",' said Ron, 'Harry, how --?' 

He fell silent as Harry cast him a warning look. They continued out the room and down the spiral staircase, Seamus, Dean and Neville trailing behind them. Boys from other years, having heard Ron's shouting, were sticking their heads out of their dormitories, mouths falling open in shock when they spotted Harry. 

A wave of whispers preceded him and Ron into the common room, which was nearly deserted: most people were either still upstairs or had already gone to breakfast. All those present, however, turned to stare at Harry. With a small scream, Gryffindor Chaser Katie Bell leapt to her feet and shot out the portrait hole. 

'Katie?' Harry called after her, but was then distracted by a shrill voice just above him. 

'Harry, Harry, Harry!' cried Colin Creevey, wriggling his way past a pair of seventh-years, both of whom were twice his size. 'I knew you were still alive!' 

He joined Harry and Ron at the foot of the stairs, hopping up and down with excitement. 

'That -- that's good, Colin,' said Harry weakly. 

Harry and Ron headed for the girls' staircase. Before they could set off up it, Hermione came flying down in her dressing gown to meet them, Ginny Weasley hard on her heels. Hermione threw herself on Harry's neck and dissolved into sobs. 

'Oh, Harry, I thought you were dead!' 

Harry patted Hermione awkwardly on the back. He could hear that Ginny had also started to cry, and Ron saying uncomfortably, 'Oh, buck up, Ginny, he's all right.' 

Hermione finally lifted her head from Harry's shoulder. 

'What happened to you?' she said. 'We were so worried ...' 

'It was V--' Harry began, but before he was able to finish, Ron had wheeled around and clamped his hand over Harry's mouth. 

'It was You-Know-Who!' said Ron furiously. 'Showed up at his house! And no wonder, eh? How many times --' he shook Harry for emphasis, '-- have I warned you, don't -- say -- his name?' 

Harry tried to wrench himself free, with no success whatsoever. Ron had always been bigger than him, and had got even more so over the summer. The top of Harry's head was inches below Ron's shoulder. With Hermione directly in front of him, he didn't have the space to put up a proper struggle. 

'How on earth did you get away?' said Hermione. 'And where have you been all this time?' 

Ron removed his hand from Harry's mouth. Harry now rather wished he hadn't. He had a sinking feeling that he was going to be asked this quite a lot, and it was the one question he didn't dare answer. The entire common room, which had been quickly filling up since Harry's arrival, was regarding him with intense curiosity. 

'I can't tell you, not with all these people about,' Harry said in a barely audible voice. 'After classes ... we can meet behind the mirror on the fourth floor ...' 

Hermione nodded slowly, looking very serious. 

'Is Hedwig OK?' said Harry to Ron. 'She did go back to The Burrow, didn't she, when she couldn't find me in Privet Drive?' 

'Yeah, Dumbledore's got her,' said Ron. 'He wanted to use her to search for you, but it didn't work.' 

'Harry!' came a squeal from the portrait hole. It was Angelina Johnson, the other Gryffindor Chaser. (The third Chaser, Alicia Spinnet, was to be gone for two terms on an exchange trip to Uzbekistan.) Angelina scrambled into the room and swooped down upon Harry. Before she could say anything (such as 'I thought you were dead' or 'Where have you been?'), Katie Bell clambered in behind her -- immediately followed by Professor McGonagall. 

Professor McGonagall was completely out of breath. Strands of hair were escaping her bun and there was the most extraordinary expression of mingled outrage and relief on her face. Harry was suddenly very conscious of having turned up at Hogwarts with no robes, no books, no supplies and no homework, his Muggle clothing filthy and grass-stained from trying to crawl across the Dursleys' lawn so many weeks ago. Professor McGonagall leant against the wall, gasping for air, her eyes fixed on Harry. Then -- 

'HARRY POTTER, _WHERE_ HAVE YOU BEEN?' she shrieked. 

Harry's heart plummeted. 'I -- I've been hiding. From -- from Vol--' 

Once again, Ron seized hold of Harry and pressed a hand to his mouth. 

'_Professor, make him stop saying the name!_' he hissed at Professor McGonagall. 

Professor McGonagall took several more deep breaths, then said, 'Weasley, let him go. Potter, come with me, we must speak with the Headmaster.' 

She spun on her heel. 

'Er -- Professor?' said Harry. 'My shoes are up in the dormitory ...' 

Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand, conjured Harry's trainers directly onto his feet and vanished through the portrait hole without another word. Harry, with one last look back at Ron and Hermione, went after her. They proceeded down the corridor, Professor McGonagall striding along so rapidly that she barely managed to avoid ploughing into Fred and George Weasley as they jogged up. 

'Harry!' the twins shouted in delight. 

'Where have you been?' demanded Fred. 'Mum's been worried sick!' 

'We didn't know if you were dead or alive!' said George indignantly. 'Why didn't you contact us?' 

'I --' said Harry. 

'Back to the common room, you two,' Professor McGonagall said sternly. 'Harry can talk to you once he's seen the Headmaster. Harry, come along.' 

She and Harry continued on their way to Dumbledore's office. They passed other students in the corridors, all of whom stopped to gawp at Harry, but -- warned off by Professor McGonagall's fierce glower -- didn't attempt to speak with him. 

Harry's apprehension rose another notch with each step he took. There was nothing else for it: he'd have to admit to Dumbledore that he could turn into a snake. Would Dumbledore believe that Harry hadn't set out to become an illegal Animagus? Particularly as Harry's father had done exactly that ... More importantly, would Dumbledore believe Harry about Snape? Harry didn't think he could bear sitting in Potions lessons week after week, knowing that Snape was responsible for his parents' murders ... 

Harry and Professor McGonagall reached the stone gargoyle, which sprang nimbly aside when McGonagall barked out the password ('Canary Creams!'). She led Harry up the moving stairs and through the oak door at the top. Dumbledore was at his desk. 

'Minerva,' he said, beaming, 'you've found him.' 

Dumbledore's eyes had lit up when he caught sight of Harry, but he still looked older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him. His face was thinner and more deeply lined; even his silvery hair seemed noticeably less bright. Harry was shocked by the changes in his appearance. Had Dumbledore been that upset by Harry's having gone missing? No wonder Professor McGonagall was so angry with him. Or -- had something else happened? Harry never _had_ worked out what Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been up to that summer ... 

'Katie Bell found him,' said Professor McGonagall grimly. 'She came tearing into the Great Hall in the middle of breakfast, screaming at the top of her lungs to Miss Johnson that Harry Potter was in the common room.' 

Professor McGonagall gave Harry a sharp sideways glance. 

'He says he was hiding from -- from You-Know-Who. It'll be all over the school by the time classes start, or some mad story will be.' Professor McGonagall was sounding more agitated with every word. 'Dumbledore, there's no way the Minister will believe you had nothing to do with this now!' 

Dumbledore sighed. 'You'll have to try and control the rumours as best you can. An official announcement should be made as soon as possible. Most of the students will not yet have finished breakfast ...' 

Professor McGonagall nodded and left. Harry looked after her in deep dismay. In spite of all the talk on the Hogwarts Express, he had never seriously thought that the Ministry of Magic might actually blame Dumbledore for his disappearance. 

'Harry, sit down,' said Dumbledore in a concerned tone. 'What happened to you?' 

Harry seated himself nervously in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk. 

'Voldemort -- he was at the Dursleys' house. I'm sorry, I -- I couldn't get away from him any sooner ...' 

Harry trailed off. He could only too well imagine how Cornelius Fudge was going to react to his story. If Fudge had mistrusted Harry simply because he could _talk_ to snakes, how much more suspicious would he become when he learnt Harry could change into one? Never mind being thrown out of Hogwarts, Harry'd be lucky not to be packed off to Azkaban. Yet keeping quiet wasn't an option. He couldn't let Fudge go on thinking that Dumbledore -- 

'_What did he do to you?_' said Dumbledore, cold fury in his voice. 

Harry blinked. It took him a second to realise that Dumbledore was talking about Voldemort. 

'Nothing, he didn't know it was me,' Harry said. He drew a steadying breath. 'D'you remember last year, when Malfoy turned me into a snake?' 

'And you found that from then on you were able to transform yourself at will?' said Dumbledore. 'Yes, Miss Granger told me. Is that how you hid from Voldemort?' 

Harry nodded. 

'But why did you not return to Mrs Figg's once Voldemort was gone?' 

'Because Voldemort had taken me with him,' said Harry. 'He thought I was a real snake. I couldn't escape, Voldemort was always around -- well, nearly always, and whenever he went off, Nagini'd come and watch me. It was only after he gave me to Mr Malfoy --' 

Harry abruptly remembered what he'd overheard in Voldemort's study. 

'Voldemort said he killed my father because he was the heir of Gryffindor! Only he wasn't, but Wormtail told Voldemort that he was -- Wormtail and _Snape_!' Harry positively spat the Potions master's name. 

A grave expression passed over Dumbledore's face. 'Yes,' he said sombrely, 'Professor Snape told Voldemort that your father was heir of Gryffindor. But he did so at your father's insistence, and very much against his own wishes in the matter.' 

'He -- my father -- _what?_' said Harry. 

'Your father had helped me perform a certain spell,' Dumbledore went on. 'Voldemort received a somewhat distorted account of this -- from Wormtail I now realise -- and came to believe that it meant James was the heir of Gryffindor. He confronted Professor Snape, who had also assisted in the casting, with his knowledge. Professor Snape did his best to put Voldemort off and then came straight to me. He wanted to inform Voldemort of the true nature of the spell. As it hadn't worked properly, this would not have hurt our side, and Professor Snape thought it would serve to convince the Dark Lord of his full loyalty, as well as raise doubts about the source of Voldemort's information. 

'Your father, however, was afraid that Voldemort might be -- growing impatient. The Dark Lord had been searching for the heir of Gryffindor for some time; a number of witches and wizards had been murdered on mere suspicion. James feared that if Voldemort didn't uncover a definite heir soon, he'd begin mass killings of all remotely likely candidates -- relatives of his previous victims, members of old Gryffindor families, ultimately anyone who had ever been sorted into the house. If Voldemort could be persuaded that James was the heir, it might prevent a great many other deaths.' 

'So he let Voldemort kill him instead,' whispered Harry. 

'It should never have come to that,' said Dumbledore heavily. 'Harry ...' he said in a more gentle tone, 'if you're thinking that your father put himself and his family unnecessarily into danger, let me assure you that that was not the case. Even had Voldemort been told the truth, he still would have suspected James, and he had other reasons for wanting him dead. Identifying James as heir of Gryffindor just made his murder a much higher priority. Your father acted as he did to save innocent lives ... and the Fidelis Charm had never been known to fail ...' 

Harry's eyes were wet with tears. He dried them on his sleeve and -- mainly to have something to say whilst he composed himself -- asked, 'Did you ever find out who the real heir of Gryffindor was?' 

'I have not found the real heir of Gryffindor,' said Dumbledore, 'because there is no real heir of Gryffindor for me to find. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I have greater access to the records of Godric Gryffindor than any living wizard, and he made no provision for a specific heir. Indeed, he was rather violently opposed to the very concept. I'm not sure why Voldemort thought Gryffindor had an heir. Perhaps it was simply that as Slytherin had one, he assumed Gryffindor must too.' 

Dumbledore gazed past Harry, an odd look on his face. 

'Ironically enough, Voldemort was on the right track when he was killing the wrong people. Yet he could have wiped out the whole of Gryffindor house and it would not have been enough. The legacy of Gryffindor can be claimed by any person of courage: your father, yourself --' a small smile played around Dumbledore's lips, '-- even Professor Snape.' 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

What does the Aitvaras Charm do? 

It transforms a snake into an Aitvaras, which is an actual beastie from Lithuanian folklore. An Aitvaras takes the form of a fiery serpent when outdoors and that of a cockerel when indoors, and steals food and gold for its master. The gold part will cause a lot of problems for Harry when Malfoy finally turns him into one, although probably not in the way you're thinking. 

Note: Some new questions from reader reviews have been added to the end of "The Butterflies" and "The Bug". 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	7. The Serpent Revealed

  
  


— CHAPTER SEVEN — 

_The Serpent Revealed_

  
For several minutes Harry sat in silence, his mind spinning with the astounding story he'd just been told. He couldn't decide which was more incredible: the revelation that Snape and his father had been working together against Voldemort, or the idea of Snape being in any way connected with Godric Gryffindor. 

Then Dumbledore's voice broke in on his thoughts. 

'Harry,' said Dumbledore in a very serious tone. 'Why did you not tell Mrs Figg that your aunt and uncle were in Majorca?' 

This was the last thing Harry would have expected the Dumbledore to ask him. A niggling feeling of worry began to creep over him. He'd been staying with Mrs Figg in part due to her declining health, and the unexplained collapse of a neighbour's house was unlikely to have brought about a sharp improvement in this. Had the shock of believing the whole family dead caused her to have a heart attack, or a nervous breakdown? 

'Is -- is she OK?' Harry asked a bit guiltily. 

'She'll live,' said Dumbledore. His light blue eyes regarded Harry intently. 

Harry realised that he hadn't answered Dumbledore's question. 'I was afraid she'd have me put into care. She wasn't well, and Uncle Vernon hadn't left an address or a phone number for me to contact him. Even if Mrs Figg had known the Dursleys were gone, she couldn't have done anything to get them back --' 

'She could have told me,' said Dumbledore. 

'You _know_ each other?' said Harry, astonished. Then an even more bizarre possibility occurred to him. 'Mrs Figg's not a witch, is she?' 

Dumbledore eyed Harry strangely. 'Harry, she's your godmother.' 

'She's my _what_?' said Harry. 

'She's your godmother,' Dumbledore repeated. 'You were not aware of this?' 

'No!' said Harry. 'She -- why didn't she ever say something?' 

'I shall be sure to ask her that when I write to let her know you've been found,' said Dumbledore calmly. 

Harry shook his head, struggling to take it all in. Mad old Mrs Figg, with her horrible cats and her cabbage-smelling house, was his _godmother_? If it had been anyone but Dumbledore telling him this, he would have been convinced they were having him on. 

'But it's lucky I didn't tell her, then,' Harry said abruptly. 'If you'd fetched the Dursleys back, they would've been there when Voldemort turned up. He'd have killed the lot of them --' 

'He would not have,' said Dumbledore. 

'He killed Cedric, didn't he?' said Harry, feeling a dull stab of pain at the memory. 'And Cedric'd done nothing to him. Uncle Vernon would have yelled at him, or tried to hit him -- he wouldn't have had the sense to run away, even if Voldemort gave him the chance ...' 

'Voldemort would not have killed your relations, he'd not have been able to,' said Dumbledore. 'There is a great power in shared blood. When you were sent to live with your aunt and uncle, it was invoked for your protection. Had you been in their care, Voldemort could not have come anywhere near them, or you.' 

'Oh, so that's what he was going on about,' said Harry. At Dumbledore's enquiring look, he elaborated, 'In the graveyard, Voldemort told the Death Eaters he couldn't kidnap me in summer because you'd done some sort of magic.' 

'And that was the first you'd heard of it?' said Dumbledore. 

'Yeah ...' said Harry. 'I didn't realise the Dursleys had to be around for it to work. Do they know about this spell?' 

'I have explained its workings to them quite carefully on more than one occasion,' said Dumbledore. He looked suddenly aged and careworn again. 'I had thought that during the holidays, at least, you would be safe.' 

'But I'm all right now,' said Harry spiritedly, 'and I bet the Dursleys have learnt their lesson, Voldemort blew up half their house!' 

Then Harry recalled what Professor McGonagall had said when she'd brought him into the office. 

'D'you think the Ministry of Magic will blame you for this?' he said nervously. 'Look, I'll tell them it was my fault. Fudge won't believe me about Voldemort, but I can prove I can turn into a snake. I'll say I was avoiding the Dursleys. If you -- if you expel me for being an illegal Animagus, that ought to convince him you didn't know --' 

'Absolutely not,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'You are to tell no one of this ability; it saved your life when all my precautions failed. I shall simply have to come up with some other story to keep the Minister happy.' 

'Voldemort _wants_ you in trouble with the Ministry, that was his plan,' said Harry darkly. 'He was going to frame Hagrid for murdering me and get both of you sacked!' 

'And it very nearly worked,' said Dumbledore. 'Quite fortunate, really, that I'd sent Hagrid abroad for the summer. Even so, Fudge would have had him taken to Azkaban weeks ago if he'd been able to do it quietly. It's good that you showed up when you did. Now that you clearly have not been eaten by a Lethifold, the Minister will be more interested in sweeping this entire matter under the rug than in hunting for scapegoats --' 

'What did he want to put Hagrid in Azkaban for?' said Harry, startled. 'I haven't been murdered _yet_ ... and it was an Aitvaras, not a Lethifold.' 

'Voldemort has an Aitvaras?' said Dumbledore, standing up swiftly. 'And he brought it to your aunt and uncle's house? Harry -- do you know -- is it still there?' 

'I -- I don't think so,' said Harry. 'He wanted Malfoy to change me into an Aitvaras, he never said anything about already having one.' 

Dumbledore sat back down. 'I think you'd better tell me everything that's happened to you over the holidays. Start at the beginning -- when you boarded the Hogwarts Express at the end of last term.' 

So Harry explained how Uncle Vernon had met him at King's Cross station and sent him on to Mrs Figg's, about gradually coming to realise she didn't know the Dursleys were in Majorca and deciding to write a letter to the Weasleys instead of telling her, that Voldemort had arrived in Privet Drive the next day; of hiding from him as a snake, but being caught, questioned and borne off to the Dark Lord's lair; how Voldemort had spoken of some mysterious task and put Harry in a tank -- 

'_You_ were the serpent in the waiting room?' said Dumbledore, as close to gobsmacked as Harry had ever seen him. 

'Yeah, I was ...' said Harry. 'Hang on, how did you know Voldemort had a serpent in his waiting room?' 

'Professor Snape happened to mention it to me,' said Dumbledore, 'but do go on.' 

Harry told Dumbledore how he'd given up on escaping, as either Voldemort or Nagini was always nearby; that he'd made up his mind to try and sabotage Voldemort's plans but hadn't been able to figure out what they were; of Wormtail's being left in his tank as a punishment and the curious episode of the chairs in the cellar. 

'That wasn't a real spell, was it?' Harry asked Dumbledore. 'I was supposed to bite Professor Snape, but I only poked him, and Voldemort didn't seem to notice.' 

'I imagine Voldemort was merely testing the snake to see if it truly could recognise Harry Potter,' said Dumbledore. 'He'd want to be satisfied that it was up to the job before he had it transformed into an Aitvaras.' 

'I reckon Voldemort's part snake himself,' said Harry. 'He could smell the Death Eaters too, when they were scared -- and Snape was less scared than the others ...' 

'Very likely,' said Dumbledore. 'Please, continue.' 

'Then Voldemort sent me off with Lucius Malfoy,' said Harry. 'He was really angry -- that's when he said my father wasn't the heir of Gryffindor. Anyway, he gave Mr Malfoy a ring and said Draco was to turn me into an Aitvaras in Care of Magical Creatures. That way everyone would think it was Hagrid's fault when I bit Harry Potter. Malfoy brought me with him on the Hogwarts Express. I didn't want anybody to find out I was the snake, so I waited 'til all of them had left to get out of my cage, and stayed hidden until morning. And here I am ...' 

'Extraordinary ...' said Dumbledore. 'That accounts for -- quite a number of things, actually ...' 

'So -- so what was Voldemort doing?' said Harry. 'I mean, it looked as though he just sat in his study the whole summer and had the Death Eaters bring him packages.' 

'To the best of my knowledge, that's all he _was_ doing,' said Dumbledore. 'I suppose after being gone for almost fourteen years he had a fair amount of resupplying to do. Possibly he wished to have me out of the way before he made his next move and was waiting for this Aitvaras plot to come off. Certain of his supporters do appear to have been laying the groundwork for it at the Ministry ...' 

That reminded Harry. 'What will we tell Fudge?' 

Dumbledore thought for a few moments. 'The truth, more or less, up until the time Voldemort removed you from Privet Drive. We'll say that you were several streets away when your scar started to hurt. You ducked behind a wall, watched as Voldemort destroyed your house -- and found yourself in Hogsmeade.' 

'Hogsmeade?' said Harry. 'How did I get there?' 

'An accidental Apparition,' said Dumbledore. 'You've done it before, it's in your record with the Improper Use of Magic Office. You sneaked into Hogwarts -- there's a secret passage between Hogsmeade Church and the staff room. The entrance is through the wardrobe in the vestry --' 

'Yes, I know about that one,' said Harry. It was one of the tunnels into Hogsmeade written on the Marauder's Map. Unfortunately, Argus Filch also knew about that particular passageway, which rendered it useless for Harry's purposes. 

'You met up with a house-elf,' Dumbledore went on. 'Dobby, in fact. You told him that Voldemort was after you and asked him to help you hide. The next thing you remember is waking up this morning in Gryffindor Tower.' 

'Er -- why don't I remember anything?' said Harry. 

'We'll have to ask Dobby that. I expect he Transfigured you into something inconspicuous -- a warming pan, perhaps -- concealed you in plain sight for the rest of the summer, slipped you into your bed last night and changed you back into yourself.' Raising his voice slightly, Dumbledore called out, 'Dobby? May I have a word?' 

With a sound like the crack of a whip, Dobby appeared. His goggling green eyes fell upon Harry; straight away he flung his arms around Harry's still rather grimy knees and burst noisily into tears. 

'Harry Potter, sir!' wailed Dobby. 'Harry Potter is alive!' 

Harry reached down and patted the house-elf's tiny shoulder. Dumbledore pulled a handkerchief from his robes and passed it across the desk to Harry, who handed it to Dobby. Dobby gave a final hiccoughing sob and blew his long, pencil-shaped nose loudly. 

'I've called you here because we need your help to keep the secret of _why_ Harry is alive,' Dumbledore told him. He explained the alibi he'd concocted, adding, 'It's doubtful you'll be questioned, but should anyone ask --' 

'-- Dobby is telling them _he_ hid Harry Potter!' squeaked Dobby triumphantly. 

'Yes,' smiled Dumbledore. 'Thank you, Dobby.' 

Dobby beamed delightedly at Harry and vanished once more. 

Dumbledore checked his watch. 

'Once your fellow students are in class, I'll take you to the hospital wing,' he said to Harry. 'You've spent nearly two months as a warming pan, after all; there could be lingering effects. I shall send Professor McGonagall to examine you as soon as she's free -- as I've already informed her you can turn into a snake, she may be given the real story of what happened to you.' 

'Does she have any idea _why_ I can turn into a snake?' said Harry. 

'Not much of one, I'm afraid,' said Dumbledore. 'Your ability to resist reversal spells and your lack of Animagus training suggests some sort of inborn talent. Your speaking English as a snake seems the logical inversion of the gift of Parseltongue, yet we found no record of other Parselmouths transforming themselves in this manner. You say that you discovered this power when Mr Malfoy attempted to change you into a toad?' 

Harry nodded. 

'It is a little known fact that Animagi can deflect unfriendly Transfigurations by assuming their animal form --' 

'But I'm not --' Harry began. 

'Presumably a non-Animagus shape-shifter would be able to do the same thing. If you tried to fight Mr Malfoy's spell, you might have instinctively triggered the transformation. Rare as Parselmouths are, it's difficult to believe you're the first ever to be Transfigured against his will, but we really have no other explanation for your ability. No recognised type of natural shape-shifter changes exclusively from human to snake ... at least none that has been proven to actually exist ...' Dumbledore gazed at Harry thoughtfully through his half-moon spectacles. 'Do you know what a Lamia is, Harry?' 

'No,' said Harry. 

'The Lamia is a creature similar to a centaur, except that its lower body is that of a giant snake rather than that of a horse. And there is another difference, one which has a direct bearing on your situation ...' 

Dumbledore conjured a large, leather-bound volume onto his desk. Embossed on the front in letters of gold was the title: _A Field Guide to Natural Shape-shifters_. Dumbledore riffled its pages, murmuring 'Beasts ... birds ... fishes ... myths and folk-tales ... ah, yes ... the Segregated Lamia.' 

He read aloud to Harry: 

_ ... a most peculiar legend, the earliest mention of which is found in volume seventeen of Radolphus Pittiman's biography of Uric the Oddball: _Uric the Oddball Visits the Holy Land: 

_ "... our guide claimed that the Lamiae were a people made up wholly of women, mothers bringing forth daughters without need of a father -- but Uric said it wasn't so. An old Efreet once told him that just as a family of good blood may produce a Squib, so may a Lamia bear a son. Such offspring, invariably abandoned by the mother, can take on the appearance of human infants and be adopted by unsuspecting travellers. For whilst in the female Lamia, human and serpent are for ever joined, in the male they are for ever apart: he shifts at will from one to the other ..." _

'You think I'm one of those -- those Separate Lamia?' said Harry. 'But I had a father, I look just like him! And my mother wasn't some kind of -- of snake woman!' 

'That _is_ rather the problem with that theory,' Dumbledore admitted. 'Of course, you could still be a Segregated Lamia if both your parents had ancestors who were ones ... but the Segregated Lamia has long been considered mere myth. Uric the Oddball is -- er -- a less than reliable source, and no living example of such a shape-shifter has ever turned up, in the Middle East or anywhere else. Until now ... It would be _fascinating_ to see what the Order of Circe might make of your case ...' 

For a brief instant, Dumbledore wore an expression very much like Hermione's right before she went scurrying off to the library. Then he gave a regretful sigh. 

'... but in the current climate, presenting a paper on it would be utterly out of the question. In any event, we may never find out for certain why you can transform into a snake. Nobody knows how the first werewolf became a werewolf, or why some wizards are born Parselmouths. The Slytherin family believed they were descended from Gorgons ... but it hardly seems likely that a wizard encountering such a creature would survive to have a child with it ...' 

Remembering what he'd learnt of Gorgons in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry was inclined to agree. A rare and dangerous type of hag found mainly in Greece, the Gorgon had snakes growing out of its head instead of hair and a deadly gaze similar to that of a Basilisk. Luckily most of them were happy enough to keep to their desolate island homes (rendered unplottable by the Greek Ministry of Magic) and be left alone. 

'But for now, hospital wing,' said Dumbledore. He stood and ushered Harry out the office, following him onto the moving staircase. 

'I don't have any robes or books or anything,' said Harry as they descended. 'My trunk's at Mrs Figg's, unless the Dursleys took it back.' 

'I have your trunk,' said Dumbledore. 'It will be brought to your dormitory along with your new set books for this year.' 

'What about Hedwig? Ron said you'd got her -- is she all right?' 

'Hedwig is fine,' said Dumbledore. 'She's in the Owlery. I'll send her to visit you when I post the letters I'll be writing.' He beamed down at Harry. 'Your godfather will be extremely happy to know you're still alive.' 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

I find it interesting that you're using the 'middle' version of the Aitvaras, the one that's a combination of the original creature and the 'Christianized-and-therefore-now-demonic' version. I'd thought for sure you'd be using the original version; what made you decide on the middle one? Will Harry still be able to fly? 

Actually, my Aitvaras probably won't exactly match any of the existing versions. I'm still deciding what powers it will have, and to what degree Harry will retain these powers once he resumes his human form. He'll definitely be able to fly as a snake, at least initially; beyond that it will depend on what ideas I get for future stories. I mentioned the middle version because of its affinity with gold, which as far as I could tell the original didn't share. This affinity has the potential to complicate Harry's life in an interesting way (think Quidditch). 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	8. The Vanishing Serpent

  
  


— CHAPTER EIGHT — 

_The Vanishing Serpent_

  
Harry and Dumbledore stepped off the revolving stairs and set off down the corridor. Just as the stone gargoyle had hopped back into its place, a voice called, 'Headmaster!' 

Professor Snape was hurrying towards them. 

Harry watched his approach with an odd mixture of emotions. Had Harry met up with Snape as little as an hour earlier, he would have yanked out his wand and cursed the Potions master with the worst hexes he could manage, believing that Snape was responsible for passing Voldemort the information that had led to the deaths of Harry's parents. Now Harry _knew_ Snape was responsible -- but he had done it solely as part of James Potter's plan to stop Voldemort murdering countless other witches and wizards. 

Something of Harry's thoughts must have shown on his face. When Snape's gaze fell upon him, a flicker of puzzlement replaced the infuriated expression he customarily wore in Harry's presence. Then the anger returned, stronger than ever. 

'I have come to report a theft,' Snape said. 'Last evening, a pet snake belonging to Draco Malfoy vanished from the Hogwarts Express. He tells me it was in its cage when he left the train. I have questioned the house-elves; they claim the cage was empty when they transported it to the Slytherin dormitories. The Bloody Baron has assured me that Peeves had nothing to do with it. This leads me to suspect that it was taken by a student as a prank.' 

Snape stared pointedly at Harry. Harry didn't say anything, although he could have denied stealing Malfoy's snake with perfect honesty. Harry hadn't _stolen_ the snake, he'd _been_ the snake, sent to Hogwarts with Malfoy on Voldemort's orders, to kill Harry Potter. 

Naturally, Snape wasn't to know this, despite the fact that he had unwittingly helped prepare the snake for its mission. Harry fought down a wild urge to ask Snape how his leg was feeling and to advise him that if he could smell more frightened next time, perhaps Voldemort wouldn't single him out to be bitten. 

'I'll have Mr Filch keep a watch for it and give out a notice to the school at lunch,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'But as I recall, Mr Malfoy already has an owl. No special permission was given for a second animal, or for an unusual pet such as a serpent. I must therefore insist that when the creature is found, it be brought straight to me.' 

Snape's eyes narrowed. He looked from Harry to Dumbledore and back again. Harry had the horrible sensation that Snape really was having a go at reading his mind. Snape, however, merely said, 'Of course, Headmaster.' 

Dumbledore and Harry went on to the hospital wing. Dumbledore informed Madam Pomfrey of Harry's purported stint as a warming pan and asked her to verify that he had suffered no permanent damage. 

Madam Pomfrey felt Harry's forehead, peered into his eyes, patted his hair and pushed it aside to inspect his ears. She took his pulse, then turned his hand over and gripped it hard, apparently checking that all the bones were present and in their proper shape. Finally she had Harry recite the alphabet, backwards. This wasn't nearly as easy as it sounded -- Harry narrowly missed skipping over Q. 

At the end of the examination, Madam Pomfrey seemed somewhat perplexed. She gave Harry a dose of nasty-tasting Wizard Tonic and a pair of pyjamas, directing him to a bed in the back of the ward with screens pulled around it. 

Harry lay there feeling rather let down after the morning's excitement. His mood improved considerably when Madam Pomfrey returned with a breakfast tray that included kippers and stewed tomatoes as well as the usual hospital wing porridge, and even further when Hedwig came swooping into the ward. She fluttered down onto Harry's bedside table at once, hooting ecstatically, bobbing her head and ruffling her wings. Harry had never before seen her act so much like Pigwidgeon. Madam Pomfrey looked on disapprovingly, but as Hedwig's visit had been given the OK by Dumbledore, said nothing. 

Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers. 'I'm sorry I left you -- I didn't have a choice. I would've come back sooner if I could, honestly ...' 

At lunch Ron and Hermione came to see him, the latter with a gleaming silver prefect badge on her chest. 

'People are saying that you were changed into a _warming pan_ by a _house-elf!_' she said. 'Is that true, Harry?' 

'Yeah,' said Harry loudly for Madam Pomfrey's benefit. Then in a softer voice he said, 'No, I was a snake, but Dumbledore doesn't want anybody to know.' 

He told them how he'd spent his holidays as Voldemort's pet and of being dispatched to Hogwarts to murder -- himself. Ron and Hermione listened wide-eyed, Ron giving a nervous twitch whenever Harry mentioned Voldemort's name. 

'So that's how you hid from everyone for so long!' said Hermione. 'We've been _looking_ for snakes. I -- er -- told Dumbledore you could transform ...' 

She glanced at Harry anxiously, as if afraid he might be angry with her. 

'That's all right, I would've had to tell him when I got back anyway,' said Harry. 'Just don't tell anyone else, whatever you do.' 

'And Snape was there?' said Ron. 'D'you really think he's on our side?' 

'For a while I was sure he wasn't,' said Harry. 

He recounted what Voldemort had told Lucius Malfoy about Snape and the heir of Gryffindor, and what Dumbledore had told him. Harry's throat grew tight as he explained what his father had done. Even though he understood why James Potter had wished Voldemort to go on believing he was Gryffindor's heir, Harry couldn't help wondering how things might have worked out differently if Professor Snape had instead been permitted to follow his own inclination and tell Voldemort the truth. 

'But now You-Know-Who knows your father _wasn't_ heir of Gryffindor,' said Hermione, sounding petrified. 'That means he'll be searching for the real heir! You'll have to start being very careful, Ron ...' 

'Me?' said Ron in astonishment. 'Why'll _I_ have to be careful?' 

'_"Old Gryffindor families"_,' said Hermione. 'You Weasleys --' 

'Oh, that,' said Ron. 'Nah, don't worry, it's only our family that've all been in Gryffindor. Most Weasleys are -- most Weasleys haven't been.' 

'What houses were they in, then?' said Harry curiously. 

'Well, my great-uncle Ronald -- I was named after him -- he was a Ravenclaw. And -- and Mum had a -- had some cousins in Hufflepuff ...' 

Ron's ears had gone bright red. Hermione gave him a sharp look. 

'Anyway, we're not old Gryffindors,' he said hurriedly, 'not like the Longbottoms. I wouldn't want to be in Neville's shoes if you're right. Or Eleanor Branstone's -- she's a Hufflepuff, but there've been Branstones in Gryffindor for ages. It was a Branstone who became Head of house after Godric Gryffindor was murdered. Or Vidge Atkins --' Ron looked suddenly horrified. 'If You-Know-Who kills her, we'll have no one to play Keeper!' 

'Vidge's our new Keeper?' said Harry, interested. 

Although the Quidditch season had been cancelled last year, Angelina Johnson had decided to get a head start training future players. Harry had been too preoccupied with the Triwizard Tournament to pay much attention to her programme, but Vidge Atkins was difficult to overlook: a huge girl, as tall as Ron and rather heavier, in spite of being two years behind him. 

'Yes, and I'll be taking Alicia's place as Chaser,' said Ron. 'Fred and George bought me a Nimbus 2000! Second-hand, but they mended the tail, it hardly lists at all now. Mind, they probably just felt sorry for me because everyone thought you were dead --' 

'How can you talk about Quidditch at a time like this?' demanded Hermione. 'Neville and Eleanor and Vidge could be murdered! We've got to warn them!' 

'I dunno, Hermione ...' said Harry slowly. 'Neville's panicky enough as it is, and Eleanor and Vidge are a bit young to be worrying over something like that. And how would you explain how you'd found out Voldemort was after them?' 

'Well, I'll certainly be having a word with Professor McGonagall,' said Hermione severely. 

* 

Professor McGonagall herself turned up in the hospital wing that evening to discuss Harry's condition with Madam Pomfrey. 

'I didn't see any signs of injury due to mis-Transfiguration,' Madam Pomfrey told her. 'Although I'm no expert ...' Madam Pomfrey hesitated, then said, 'If I didn't know better, I'd say he was suffering from nervous exhaustion. There's no way he could have remained conscious whilst a warming pan, is there?' 

'No, of course not, he'd have no brain to be conscious _with_,' Professor McGonagall assured her. 'Being Transfigured into an inanimate object can be very disorienting for precisely that reason, particularly if the subject is already in an over-excited state. I'll have a quick look, though, to be sure nothing else is the matter with him ...' 

Professor McGonagall took Harry into one of the private rooms at the end of the hospital wing. As soon as the door was shut, she fixed him with a gimlet stare and said, 'Potter, why didn't you tell me about this before?' 

'I was afraid I'd be expelled,' said Harry, not quite meeting her eyes. 'I mean, I couldn't _prove_ I wasn't an illegal Animagus.' 

He expected Professor McGonagall to begin telling him off. Instead she gave a weary sigh. 'Just as well you didn't, I suppose. One of the first people I'd have consulted with would have been Professor Moody.' 

Professor McGonagall had Harry describe how it felt when he changed shape and his experience of being a serpent. She watched him transform, then turned into a cat herself to sniff at him and lick his face. She tried various reversal spells, which only worked when Harry chose not to fight them. 

'Are you feeling up to being Stunned?' she said. 'I'd like to see if the Transfiguration can be reversed when you're unconscious.' 

'Yeah, OK,' said Harry. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and changed into a snake. 

'_Stupefy_,' said Professor McGonagall. 

There was a flash of scarlet light. Harry felt as if Aunt Petunia had finally succeeded in catching him a blow with her frying pan. He swung his head from side to side to clear it. 

'Potter?' said Professor McGonagall. 

'Hang on, I'm still awake,' said Harry. 

Professor McGonagall gave a slight start. 'You really can talk when you're a snake ... Let me try Stunning you again, I hadn't wanted to use full strength.' 

'_Stupefy_,' she said, more firmly this time. 

Her spell left Harry numb and thoroughly dazed, but conscious. 

'Still didn't work,' he said blearily. 

'_Stupefy_!' shouted Professor McGonagall. 

Not exactly Stunned, but not truly awake either, Harry let out a feeble moan and, more on instinct than anything else, wriggled under the pillow to hide. From the soft, feathery depths, he could dimly hear Professor McGonagall saying, 'Potter, are you all right? _Enervate!_ _Enervate!_' 

'I'm fine,' said Harry poking his nose out. 'You almost had it that time, though. Try it with a bit more magic ...' 

'Now that _is_ peculiar,' said Professor McGonagall. 'You seem to be quite hex-proof as a snake ...' She eyed her wand uneasily. 'I don't think we ought to experiment with stronger spells at present. Back to the ward, Potter. You should get some rest.' 

She reached for the doorknob. 

'Hang on, I need to ask you something,' said Harry, slithering from beneath the pillow and turning back into himself. 'You know how Voldemort wanted to kill my dad because he thought he was heir of Gryffindor?' 

'I'd known that He Who Must Not Be Named suspected James was the heir,' said Professor McGonagall. 'I _hadn't_ known that James had put Severus up to egging him on.' The tone of her voice implied that, had she done so, she definitely would have had something to say about it. 

'But now Voldemort's found out he wasn't,' Harry ploughed on, 'Hermione reckons he'll be looking for someone else. Neville and Vidge may be in danger, and Eleanor Branstone ...' 

'You're not to concern yourself with that, Potter,' said Professor McGonagall sharply. Harry opened his mouth; she raised her hand to silence him. 'I'll speak with Dumbledore. You may be certain he'll take the appropriate precautions. But stopping You-Know-Who is none of your concern. Your father had his whole life ahead of him, he should never have been allowed --' Professor McGonagall's voice broke. Her eyes were strangely bright. 'I realise we haven't done the best job of protecting you in the past, but --' she swallowed and went on in a more normal tone, '-- but this year, you need to concentrate on your O.W.Ls.' 

* 

Madam Pomfrey let Harry leave the hospital wing next morning after a final check-up and another spoonful of the revolting Wizard Tonic. Ron and Hermione showed up at the ward to accompany him to breakfast. When they reached the Entrance Hall, Ron said, 'You go on, I want a word with Neville. And Hagrid's really keen to see you, Harry.' 

Hagrid wasn't the only one keen to see Harry, judging by the number of people craning to catch a glimpse of him in the Great Hall. Harry hadn't been gawped at so much since his first week at Hogwarts. Even Snape turned to glare at him for a second or two before going back to haranguing a blonde Slytherin girl, who appeared utterly bewildered by his behaviour. Snape must have been in an especially foul mood: normally students in his own house were spared the worst of his temper. Hagrid himself was waving energetically at Harry and Hermione from the front of the Hall. He came down to meet them at the Gryffindor table. 

'Harry! Yeh look awful!' he said by way of greeting. 

'I, er, don't think being a warming pan quite agreed with me,' Harry mumbled. 

'Ah, well, don' worry -- food an' fresh air'll soon set yeh righ'.' 

Hagrid grabbed a dish of scrambled eggs and another of fried mushrooms, dumped the lot on Harry's plate and topped it off with half a jar of orange marmalade. Harry suddenly realised that he was hungry enough to actually consider tucking into this bizarre concoction. 

As he pulled up his chair he said to Hagrid, 'How'd you get on with that job you were doing for Dumbledore? He said he'd sent you abroad over the holidays ...' 

'Oh ... coulda bin better, coulda bin worse,' said Hagrid evasively. 

Once Harry had eaten several forkfuls of egg and mushroom (doing his best to pick out the bits that hadn't been touched by the marmalade), Hagrid headed back for the staff table. Harry noticed that the blonde witch Snape had been remonstrating with was sitting there beside him. 

'Who's that woman next to Professor Snape?' he asked Hermione. 

'That's Professor Millarca,' Hermione said, 'the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.' 

At that moment Ron cleared his throat behind them. 

'Neville's got something to tell you, Harry,' he said. 

Harry twisted his head to see Neville Longbottom fingering his prefect badge nervously. 

Neville drew a deep breath and said, 'You can't say You-Know-Who's name any more, Harry -- I'll have to take points from Gryffindor if you do.' 

'I don't reckon Dumbledore will let you,' said Harry, 'as it's him who told me to say "Voldemort".' 

'Oh,' said Neville, reddening slightly. 'Right.' He took the empty seat on Hermione's other side and busied himself buttering some toast. 

Ron sat down by Harry, wearing a disgruntled scowl. 

After breakfast, as Harry, Ron and Hermione were recrossing the Entrance Hall, their path was blocked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry (who had assumed that Malfoy merely had a few sneering comments to make about his summer as a warming pan) was taken aback at the sheer rage that twisted the pale boy's pointed face when he stepped forward between his two hulking companions. 

'You took it,' said Malfoy, and there was nothing at all bored or drawling about his voice now. The venom with which he spoke was frightening. 

'Took what?' said Harry, for a moment honestly having no idea what Malfoy was talking about. 

'You took my snake! Off the Hogwarts Express! If you don't tell me where you've hidden it, right now --' Malfoy drew his wand. 

'I never laid a finger on your snake,' said Harry. 

This was technically the truth, although Malfoy clearly didn't believe a word of it. 

'Had you remembered to feed him that morning?' Harry asked innocently. 'Perhaps he went looking for something to eat.' 

Malfoy's face grew visibly whiter. As Harry was well aware, the snake had been given no food whatsoever in its entire stay at Malfoy Manor. Pressing his advantage, Harry continued, 'He's probably off to the lake to find a nice frog. I'd get after him straight away if I were you, before he's eaten by the Giant Squid.' 

Malfoy turned a lighter shade yet. 

'Or Hagrid feeds him to one of the Skrewts,' Ron put in, obviously enjoying Malfoy's discomfiture. 'I bet Hagrid knows all about catching snakes. Course, after the way you tried to have Buckbeak executed, he's not likely to help _you_.' 

Malfoy didn't bother replying to this. 'C'mon,' he said to Crabbe and Goyle. 

The three of them hurried off. Harry watched them go, not nearly as pleased as he normally would have been to see Malfoy in such a flap. He hadn't given a second's thought to what might happen to Malfoy when the snake went missing. With a cold feeling in his stomach, he recalled the screams of the Death Eaters who had visited Voldemort's study that summer. 

'Malfoy's going to be in loads of trouble for losing that snake,' he said quietly. 'Voldemort was furious with his father. Told him this was his last chance and he was holding him personally responsible --' 

Before Harry could say any more, Ron whipped round and seized him by the shoulders, snarling, '_Will you stop saying the name?_' 

Harry angrily wrenched himself free. He opened his mouth to tell Ron that he was being as stupid and superstitious as Professor Trelawney with her death omens and that he, Harry, would call Voldemort by whatever name he liked. Then Harry remembered how miserable he'd been the previous autumn when he and Ron hadn't been speaking to each other, and choked back his words. 

'Ron,' said Hermione in a pacifying tone, 'You-Know-Who's been trying to kill Harry since he was a baby. I don't think Harry's not saying his name will do anything to change his mind.' 

Ron looked abashed at this. 

'Sorry,' he muttered to Harry. 

'Why was You-Know-Who upset with Lucius Malfoy?' said Hermione. 

'He -- I'm not sure, actually,' said Harry. 'He smelled angry from the time he took me out of my tank. Then when Mr Malfoy came in, he started shouting about my father not being the heir.' 

'He blamed Lucius Malfoy for that?' said Hermione, frowning. 

'I dunno ...' said Harry. He strained his memory, trying to bring back the details of the conversation he'd overheard in Voldemort's study. 'He said my dad was no more Gryffindor's heir than Mr Malfoy was -- that Snape and Wormtail had been wrong. Oh, and before that he said he'd been talking to Madam Turpin.' 

'Madam Turpin?' said Hermione keenly. 'I knew there was something fishy going on with her! What did he say about her?' 

'That she'd almost got the Triwizard Tournament called off,' said Harry. 

'I don't see what that has to do with Lucius Malfoy either,' said Hermione, extremely puzzled. 

'Maybe Vol-- maybe You-Know-Who was just taking it out on him,' shrugged Harry. 'But Mr Malfoy smelled really scared. He carried my cage with him everywhere at the Manor, until he gave it to Draco. I wonder if Malfoy's told _him_ about this ...' 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	9. The Ferret and the Grim

  
  


— CHAPTER NINE — 

_The Ferret and the Grim_

  
After last term's nightmarish ending and the extremely stressful events of the holidays, returning to the normal daily routine at Hogwarts proved something of a shock to Harry's system. He had been so certain for so many weeks that he was going to die fighting Voldemort, that it was difficult for him to get on with the business of ordinary life. Lessons and homework and the upcoming O.W.Ls simply didn't seem as important as they used to do. 

Harry had trouble concentrating in class and on several occasions forgot either books or homework in Gryffindor Tower. Hermione began reminding him to check his bag each morning, an anxious note in her voice. Madam Pomfrey never failed to intercept him before breakfast with her foul Wizard Tonic, and every time he passed Cho Chang in the corridors, it brought back painful memories of Cedric Diggory's death. 

But things could have been much worse. No officers of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol showed up to arrest Harry, Hagrid or Dumbledore, nor was Harry's reception from his fellow students as chilly as he'd feared. Dumbledore's warming pan story was deemed so ridiculous that it had to be true, and served to allay a great deal of the suspicion with which Harry had previously been regarded. 

One person who was not at all mollified, however, was Professor Snape. He held Harry back after the first Potions lesson of the year to give him a talking to. Snape was incensed that a whole summer had been wasted searching for Harry and considered Harry himself entirely to blame for this. 

'Everything that has happened to you has been your own fault,' Snape spat. 'You cheated at the Triwizard Tournament, you lied to your godmother and I _know_ you stole Mr Malfoy's snake!' 

Harry couldn't manage to feel properly angry at this. He thought of Snape, fourteen years younger, plotting strategy with his father, and wondered if Snape had been one of the Death Eaters he'd heard being tortured in Voldemort's study. Baffled and frustrated by Harry's lack of reaction, Snape finished his rant by informing Harry that his potion-brewing would embarrass a first-year, and assigned him a six-foot long essay on the use of human blood in Dark potions, to be handed in to him in two weeks time. 

Malfoy was likewise convinced that Harry had taken the snake. He shot Harry murderous glowers whenever they encountered one another. Fred and George, noticing this, congratulated Harry on finding such a superb way of winding Malfoy up. 'Course, it's not nearly as good as what we've got planned for him ...' smirked Fred, but neither twin would say exactly what that was. 

Nor was Snape the only teacher dishing out loads of extra work. Most of them evidently shared Professor McGonagall's wish that the fifth-years focus on preparing for their O.W.Ls. Hermione threw herself into this endeavour wholeheartedly, drawing up elaborate timetables to account for every hour of the next nine months. 

Ron, on the other hand, was mainly interested in Quidditch. He was badgering Angelina to set a date for their first practice and dragging Harry out onto the pitch of evening to throw the Quaffle for him to catch. When Hermione grumbled about this frivolous squandering of valuable revision time, Ron told her, 'Hagrid said he needed fresh air.' 

Maybe Harry and Ron should have invited Hagrid to join them. Hagrid was in a thoroughly depressed mood. The Ministry of Magic had forbidden him to bring any creature of higher classification than XX (harmless / may be domesticated) into the Hogwarts grounds, which had taken all the joy out of teaching Care of Magical Creatures for him. He made an obvious effort to be kind and encouraging to Harry, but was gloomy and morose around practically everyone else, and frightened the entire class Harry's first day back by exploding at Draco Malfoy. 

They had been collecting their things to leave after a very wet lesson on Augureys when Hagrid's great bellow of rage stopped them in their tracks. 

'WHAT, SO YEH CAN USE 'EM FER SOME KIND O' HORRIBLE DARK MAGIC?' 

Everyone turned to stare. Hagrid, looking twice as big as normal, towered over the quaking Malfoy, who made some sort of whimpering protest. 

'Don' give me that!' snarled Hagrid. 'Yer whole family's a viper's nest o' Dark wizards, always have been! An' if anyone turns up dead of snakebite, I'll know what ter tell Magical Law Enforcement!' 

Malfoy blanched at these words, as well he should have. He set off for the castle at top speed. Harry, whose ears had pricked at the mention of snakebite, sidled over to Hagrid. 

'What did Malfoy want?' he said. 

'Wanted me ter teach him how ter catch snakes,' said Hagrid, still breathing hard. 

'Oh,' said Harry. 'You won't, will you?' 

'O' course not,' growled Hagrid. 

Harry was only partly reassured by this. He didn't much fancy the idea of Malfoy laying traps for him, even without Hagrid's assistance -- he might need to hide as a snake again. Even more worrying was the possibility that Malfoy, deprived of his serpent, was hatching some new plot against Hagrid. As he headed up the lawn with Ron and Hermione, Harry resolved to keep a closer eye on Malfoy in future. 

* 

That night at dinner, Malfoy and Professor Snape walked into the Great Hall together. The pair of them cast identical looks of loathing in Harry's direction before continuing on to the staff table. They made a beeline for Hagrid, who was seated in his usual spot at the far end of the room. Harry couldn't hear what was being said, but when the conversation was over Hagrid's expression had grown noticeably grumpier. Snape, however, appeared well satisfied, and Malfoy only slightly less so. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione caught up with Hagrid as he was exiting the Hall after the meal. 

'What were you and Snape talking about?' Harry asked him. 

Hagrid looked disgusted. 'Ruddy Malfoy's pet snake's run off. Snape was askin' me ter help find it.' 

'And you said you would?' said Ron, incredulous. 

'Yeah, well -- it disappeared from the Hogwarts Express. Tha' makes it the school's responsibility, an' I _am_ Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Snape says Dumbledore knows about it, so I reckon it's OK. I'll teach Malfoy how ter make Snake Baskets, can' do any harm with them ...' 

'Snake Baskets?' Hermione said curiously. 

'Baskets made out o' snake-grass,' Hagrid explained, 'an' yeh put in other stuff ter attract 'em. Don' worry, they won' be on the exam.' The ghost of a smile showed through his bristling beard. 'No need fer the rest of you ter bother with 'em. I'll jus' have him come down to me hut one evenin' --' 

'Let us come too,' said Harry swiftly. At Hagrid's surprised look, he hurried on, 'Malfoy may be trying to get you in trouble again. If that snake bites him or something, we can be witnesses it wasn't your fault. And -- and Malfoy's saying I'm the one who stole it. I need to -- to clear my name.' 

'Well, if yeh really wan' to,' said Hagrid dubiously. 'Can' start straigh' away, though. Hogsmeade apothecary'll have ter order the snake-grass specially. I'll let yeh know when it gets here ...' 

* 

In spite of Harry's misgivings as to what Malfoy might be up to, the next week and a half saw a gradual improvement in both his spirits and his attentiveness. He was feeling particularly pleased with himself Tuesday night at dinner. He had finally persuaded Madam Pomfrey to let him off his morning dose of Wizard Tonic, he had correctly answered all Professor Flitwick's questions on enchanting objects in Charms and, while the cooking at Hogwarts had always been good, it tasted more wonderful than ever after a summer of nothing but frogs. 

Harry had just demolished a helping of roast chicken and was starting on the buttered peas when outraged cries from the other side of the Great Hall caused him to look up from his plate. Something massive, black and shaggy stood atop the Slytherin table amidst splattered food and overturned goblets. Most of the Slytherins were scrambling to get away from it; a few were drawing their wands, but before they could do anything, the beast gathered itself up and jumped to the Ravenclaw table. 

'Sirius!' gasped Harry, getting up so rapidly that he almost knocked over his chair. 

Luckily his voice was drowned out by a long, high, panic-stricken wail from Lavender Brown. 

_'The Grim, it's come for us, we're all going to die!'_

At that moment, Sirius spotted Harry. He let out a series of thundering barks and traversed the Hufflepuff table in two enormous bounds, students fleeing in his wake. Reaching the Gryffindor table, he hopped to the floor and hurled himself on Harry. Harry clutched at the dog's thick black fur to keep from being bowled over and sat down heavily. Sirius placed his paws (which were larger than most men's hands) on Harry's shoulders. He licked Harry's face and snuffled his hair, giving small contented yips. His tail lashed the air ecstatically. 

'I missed you too, Snuffles,' Harry grinned, patting Sirius on the head. 

'That will be enough of that,' said a cold voice. 

Professor Snape had managed to shove his way through the mass of people crowding the staff table in an effort to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the supposed Grim. He pointed his wand at Sirius and a lead and collar flew out, fastening itself around the dog's neck. 

'Come along, _Snuffles_, we're going to the Headmaster's office.' 

Snape gave the lead a hard jerk. The huge dog didn't budge. It turned its head slowly and growled, a low, menacing sound that filled the Hall and raised the hairs on the back of even Harry's neck. 

'I don't think he likes you,' said Harry. 'Here, why don't you let _me_ take him --' 

'I think not, Potter,' sneered Snape and changed into a ferret. 

'Professor Snape?' said Harry. 

For a mad instant Harry thought Professor Moody had returned to Hogwarts, but a quick scan of the Great Hall revealed no sign of him. Nor did Ron or Hermione appear to be responsible; they seemed as nonplussed at Snape's transformation as Harry. 

Sirius lowered his head to sniff at the erstwhile Snape. The ferret's fur (greasy and matted though it was) stood on end. It laid back its ears, hissed and leapt. Sirius drew back just in time. The ferret's yellowish teeth snapped shut less than an inch short of his nose. Then Sirius pounced. He seized the ferret by the scruff of its neck, clambered onto the Gryffindor table and began jumping back across the Hall. 

'Snuffles!' yelled Harry. 'Bring it back!' 

Sirius, now on the threshold, glanced over his shoulder, wagged his tail and vanished. Harry looked frantically about the room. Hundreds of petrified students were bunched at either end, trapping the teachers at the High Table and blocking the path to the doors. His godfather hated Snape, but surely he wouldn't eat him? 

Harry decided he couldn't take the chance. Dropping to his hands and knees, he crawled awkwardly under the house tables, wishing he dared turn into a snake to slither across the flagged stones. Once inside the Entrance Hall, Harry could hear the clanking of a chain being dragged up the marble staircase towards the second floor. 

He found Sirius sitting beside the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office, the enraged ferret still wriggling in his jaws. Sirius eyed Harry expectantly. His tail swept the floor. Harry briefly considered trying to take the ferret away from the him, but judging by the vigour with which the transformed Snape was thrashing and snarling, he had been in no way harmed by his precipitous abduction, and anyway, Harry didn't have his dragon-hide gloves on him. 

'Canary Creams,' he said, and the gargoyle hopped aside. Harry and Sirius stepped onto the moving stairs. When they reached the top, Harry knocked on the polished oak door. Dumbledore's voice bade him enter. 

'Ah, Sirius,' said Dumbledore. 'You're late. Er -- what's that you've got there?' 

'It's Professor Snape,' said Harry. 'He turned into a ferret at dinner, I don't know why. Sirius caught him and carried him here.' 

'On the chair, Sirius,' said Dumbledore calmly. 

Sirius dropped the ferret on a chair near the desk. Dumbledore waved his wand and Professor Snape reappeared. 

'Black!' he spat, twisting around to glare at the dog. 

With a small _pop_, Sirius changed back into a man. 

'I didn't do it,' he laughed, unbuckling the collar, which had remained on his neck. 

'Potter!' snarled Snape, rounding on Harry. 

'I didn't do it either!' Harry protested, then had a sudden awful idea who might have done. 

Snape must have seen the guilt on his face. 'Don't lie to me, Potter,' he hissed, rising from the chair to loom above Harry. 

There was a deep, rumbling growl. A dog once more, Sirius crouched at Harry's side, teeth bared, poised to spring at Snape should he come any closer. 

'Sirius, that will do!' said Dumbledore sharply. He fixed his piercing blue eyes on Harry. 'Harry, if you know anything about this incident, I ask that you tell me now. I would prefer not to waste time searching for non-existent plots by Voldemort if there is another explanation.' 

Harry gulped. The last thing he wanted was to shop Fred and George; if they really were behind Snape's transformation, they would undoubtedly be expelled. But when Dumbledore put it that way, Harry couldn't refuse to answer him. 

'I don't -- know anything,' he said miserably. 'But your password -- "Canary Creams" --' Harry turned to Snape. 'Did you have a cake or a sweet from someone before dinner?' 

It seemed a safe question. Fred and George were not sufficiently foolhardy to give hexed food to Snape in person, nor was Snape stupid enough to eat anything the Weasley twins offered him. If, indeed, it _had_ been Fred and George -- other people could enchant puddings. 

'The Cauldron Cakes!' said Snape. 

In three strides he was out the door and pelting down the staircase. 

'I'll be back!' his voice floated up at them. 

'That's got rid of him,' grinned Sirius. Then in a more serious tone he said, 'Harry, where have you been? And why didn't you tell Mrs Figg the rest of your family had gone to Majorca?' 

'Er --' Harry looked at Dumbledore. 

'He's your godfather,' said Dumbledore. 'He should know the truth.' 

So Harry told Sirius about being the serpent of Lord Voldemort. 'I didn't know the Dursleys had broken Dumbledore's spell by going away, or that Mrs Figg was my godmother,' he finished. 'I thought she was just another Muggle.' 

'Your aunt and uncle never told you Mrs Figg was your godmother?' said Sirius. 'But -- why? I mean, I can see why they wouldn't want to tell you about me, but I'd thought they were friends with Arabella?' 

'Well, they couldn't have _known_ she was my godmother, could they have?' said Harry. 'Uncle Vernon didn't believe I had a godfather until I showed him your letter, and if they'd realised there was a witch living two streets away ... I suppose they couldn't very well have gone to the police, but they wouldn't have stayed in Privet Drive. They'd've -- sold the house and moved to a different suburb.' 

'Harry's relations are terrified of magic,' explained Dumbledore, 'and I'm afraid I'm somewhat to blame for it. They raised Harry as a Muggle, not telling him anything about his parents or Voldemort or the wizarding world. I imagine they thought they were protecting him. When the letters from Hogwarts began arriving at their house, they took Harry and went on the run. I had assumed that the post was being intercepted. I sent Hagrid to deliver one by hand and he only alarmed them all the more. Had I known, I would have gone myself.' Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh. 'I should have realised ... losing a sister at such an early age, in such an appalling manner, would be enough to turn any Muggle against magic.' 

'It wasn't your fault!' said Harry hotly. 'The Dursleys have always hated magic. And Aunt Petunia wasn't upset that Voldemort killed my mum. She said she was a freak and she'd got what she deserved for becoming a witch!' 

'Your aunt said that?' said Sirius weakly. 

'Yeah, when Hagrid brought me my letter.' 

'Harry, sometimes when people are angry or frightened, they say things they don't mean,' said Dumbledore gently. 

Before Harry could inform Dumbledore that he was certain Aunt Petunia had meant every word, Sirius spoke up. 'You really think they didn't know Arabella was his godmother? I know they weren't at the christening -- wizarding world wasn't all that safe for Muggles then -- but surely Lily would have written them?' 

'I don't believe they did,' said Dumbledore thoughtfully. 'Unfortunately, Harry is most likely correct in his estimation of their reaction had they done so. It's odd they didn't hear about it from Lily, but things were so unsettled for her and James at the time ...' 

Harry didn't think this was odd at all. If he ever had a child, the last person he'd send word to of its christening would be Dudley Dursley. 

'I shall have to warn Arabella not to mention it to them,' Dumbledore went on. 'Now that Harry knows, there isn't much point and even with the protection on his aunt and uncle, we need her able to keep an eye on them. Arabella quite likes Mrs Dursley -- it would be a pity to end their friendship unnecessarily.' 

Harry gave a snort. It didn't surprise him in the least that Mrs Figg liked Aunt Petunia, the way his aunt smarmed up to her. There was no one else the Dursleys could risk leaving Harry with. Should anything funny happen whilst he was at Mrs Figg's, everyone in the neighbourhood already thought she was mad. For this reason, they were careful to stay on her good side. Aunt Petunia (who detested animals) had once gone so far as to pat Mr Paws. She'd washed her hands in carbolic for five whole minutes when she and Harry got back to number four. 

'The spell's working again?' said Sirius. 

'Now that Harry is here, we can bring it up to full strength,' said Dumbledore. 

'Will he have to leave Hogwarts?' asked Sirius, looking tense. 

'No,' said Dumbledore, 'it can be done at a distance.' 

'And you're positive what you're doing will work?' Sirius demanded. 

'Yes,' said Dumbledore patiently. 'We can discuss the details ... but it will be rather dull. Perhaps Harry would like to return to his meal?' 

'Oh -- right,' said Harry. 

'I'll see you after dinner,' called Sirius as Harry left the office. 

But when Harry got back the Great Hall, he found it utterly deserted ... 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

What is a cockerel? 

A young male chicken. 

Er -- wouldn't it be really inconvenient for Harry to turn into a chicken whenever he goes indoors? 

Well, yes, it would be. But some of the things Muggles believe about certain magical creatures (and even some of the things wizards believe about certain magical creatures) don't always turn out to be true. 

What was really going on when McGonagall tried to Stun Harry? 

Like that of dragons, manticores and Erumpents (although obviously to a much lesser degree), the skin of Harry's snake form repels curses. 

Is Harry going to _let_ Malfoy transform him? Has he taken on any snake traits in his human form? 

Funnily enough, the answers to these two questions ('not exactly' and 'in at least one very subtle way, yes') are not unrelated, as will be revealed in Chapter 11. 

I take it being licked by McGonagall in cat form is preferable to being licked by Nagini? 

Definitely. Smaller tongue, less spit. (Also, Nagini was deliberately trying to get slobber all over Harry, whereas McGonagall just wanted to see if he tasted like a real snake.) Now, Sirius, on the other hand ... 

I'm very curious about Millarca - is she any relation to le Fanu's Millarca? 

No relation to the actual character, but they have one or two things in common. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	10. Slytherin's Birthday

  
  


— CHAPTER TEN — 

_Slytherin's Birthday_

  
Harry gazed bemusedly at the empty tables of the abandoned Great Hall for several moments. Then, not knowing what else to do, he headed back up the marble staircase for Gryffindor Tower. The entire house seemed to be gathered in common room, chattering excitedly. Fred and George waved frantically from the table in the corner that they and Ron were sharing. Several chairs away, Hermione sat tight-lipped and glowering, her arms folded angrily. 

'Where've you been, Harry?' said Fred. 'You missed all the fun!' 

'What fun?' said Harry. 'Why'd everyone leave dinner so soon?' 

'The teachers sent us to our dormitories while they tracked down the last of the Slytherins,' said George. 

'The Slytherins?' said Harry. 'What have they done now?' 

'The _Slytherins_,' said Hermione, her voice trembling with fury, 'haven't done _anything_!' 

Harry listened in mounting astonishment as she explained what had transpired. 

Following Harry's departure, everyone in the Great Hall had stood frozen with shock, until two events broke the stillness. 

Lavender Brown let out another petrified moan. 

'Oooooooh, Professor Snape! The Grim's taken his soul!' 

Then the Slytherins began turning into ferrets too. 

'Nobody realised what was going on,' said Hermione. 'Snape had vanished, then other people started to disappear, and then there were all these crawly things underfoot. The four houses were all packed together, so it wasn't obvious just the Slytherins were affected. Everyone was terrified they'd be next.' 

All-out bedlam had ensued. Students screamed and pushed and fought for cover under the staff table. (In spite of the disappearances, no one was willing to flee the Hall with a Grim on the loose somewhere outside.) 

Miraculously, none of the transformed Slytherins were trampled, in no small part thanks to Hermione's quick thinking. She and Ron had been the only people to remain at the house tables and thus had an unobstructed view of the rest of the Hall. When she saw the ferrets, Hermione put two and two together, and performed a Mass Hover Charm (_'Mobiliferrets!'_) to lift them above the fray. 

The sight of an army of ferrets suspended in mid-air beneath the floating candles had by its sheer strangeness quieted most of the students down. At around this point, Professor Snape came charging in. 

'Look, it's Professor Snape!' cried Ginny Weasley. 'Harry's saved him from the Grim!' 

It was a mark of how rattled people were that a ragged cheer went up. Few of them would normally have been pleased to see Snape back, particularly wearing such a surpassingly wrathful expression on his face. After that, the teachers were soon able to restore order and return the Slytherins to their proper shapes. 

Snape immediately confronted Fred and George, who admitted to having produced a batch of Ferret Fudge but denied putting it on the Slytherins' Cauldron Cakes. 

'We made it to _sell_,' said Fred indignantly. 'It cost us our whole summers' pocket money for ingredients.' 

'Then Fred went and left the box in a passageway, and when we came back for it, it was gone,' George said in an aggrieved tone. ('Which was true,' he told Harry later in the common room. 'We left it in the kitchen corridor near the painting of the fruit-bowl with a note saying _Chocolate Icing -- Slytherin's Birthday_, and when we came back next morning, it was gone.') 

Nonetheless, Professor McGonagall's fury was extreme. 

'Never in all my time as Head have Gryffindor students so utterly disgraced the house!' she snarled. 'If I had the slightest shred of evidence you did this deliberately, you'd be packed and waiting for the Hogwarts Express this very minute!' 

She took fifty points from Gryffindor off each of them, and fifty more off Lavender Brown for her role in causing the furore. She also gave Fred and George detention every evening for the next month. Students at Hogwarts often spoke in jest of receiving such a punishment, but this was the first time Harry had heard of it actually being administered. Hermione was awarded fifty points for her heroic rescue of the Slytherins, but even so, this early in the term, Gryffindor's house points were left well in the negative numbers. 

Snape was convinced that Harry, Ron and Hermione had been in on the joke. He had bitterly protested Hermione's fifty points. The only reason she had managed to keep her head, he asserted, was because she knew about the Ferret Fudge in advance. 

'I didn't panic because I'm not stupid enough to believe in Grims!' Hermione retorted. 'It's Professor Trelawney's fault, she's been scaring people with them for years. You should take fifty points off her!' (Professor McGonagall plainly deeply regretted that this was not feasible.) 

In any case, Snape had little time to argue. The ferrets closest to the doors had bolted before Hermione's spell took effect, and needed to be rounded up before they could come to any harm. The remaining students were ordered back to their dormitories to keep them out of the way. 

That had been half an hour ago. Hermione was still in a towering rage at Fred and George. 

'It wasn't funny!' she said fiercely. 'Someone could have died!' 

'Some Slytherin,' muttered Fred. 'No great loss there.' 

'How can you joke about that,' said Hermione quietly, 'after what happened last year?' 

This wiped the smile off Harry's face -- up to then he'd found the notion of the whole of Slytherin house being changed into ferrets highly entertaining. Even Fred and George had the grace to look guilty. 

'The Slytherins would've been perfectly safe if that Grim hadn't showed up,' said George defensively. 'How were we supposed to know that would happen?' 

'D'you think any of them would have cared if Harry'd got it along with Cedric?' said Fred darkly. 'You saw what they were like at the Leaving Feast. We wanted to pay them back for You-Know-Who murdering Harry this summer.' 

'Which he hadn't done,' said Hermione coldly. 

George brushed this aside. 'It was too good a plan to call off. We'd already made the Ferret Fudge, and Slytherin's birthday was the perfect opportunity. The Slytherins get Cauldron Cakes in their common room after classes, Higgs has boasted about it since we were first-years --' 

'How come _we_ don't get Cauldron Cakes in our common room on Gryffindor's birthday?' Ron interrupted. 

Hermione turned her scowl on him. She was almost as put out with Ron as she was with his brothers, even though Fred and George really hadn't told him about the joke beforehand. Ron, she complained, had rolled on the floor laughing like a mad hyena while she struggled to levitate two hundred odd ferrets single-handedly. 

'Well, for a start, nobody knows when Gryffindor's birthday is,' she said irritably. 'Still haven't read _Hogwarts, A History_, have you? Slytherin left instructions in his will: every year on his birthday, each of his students was to be given a Cauldron Cake, a sachet of spikenard and compass-weed and one-seventh of a silver Sickle. And if your brothers had spent the holidays revising for their N.E.W.Ts instead of planning stupid tricks, Gryffindor wouldn't be going to lose the House Championship this year! I'm off up to bed!' 

She rose from her seat and stalked up the girls' staircase. 

'That'd be around four Knuts, wouldn't it?' said Harry. 

'What would be?' said George. 

'A seventh of a Sickle,' said Harry. 

'Oh,' said Fred. 'No, it's an actual Sickle, chopped into seven pieces. Dunno how Slytherin fixed it with the goblins, they normally get quite shirty about damage to the currency ...' 

* 

Next morning Professor McGonagall turned up in the common room, crosser than a goblin who had just stumbled upon an entire vaultful of minced Sickles. There were dark circles under her eyes from hunting ferrets late into the night. She searched Fred and George's trunks, confiscated a fair assortment of suspicious items and forbade them on pain of expulsion to make or sell any more enchanted objects of any sort. 

When Harry, Ron and Hermione went down to breakfast, venomous glares from the Slytherins in general and Draco Malfoy in particular followed them to the Gryffindor table. Snape had obviously made no secret of his belief that they had been fellow conspirators in the Ferret Fudge plot. (Malfoy, Harry later learnt from Sirius, was the last of the transformed Slytherins to be run to ground. He had taken refuge in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where the mouldy lavatory odour masked his smell from Mrs Norris, Professor McGonagall and Sirius himself. Malfoy was only discovered when Myrtle noticed him cowering in the corner of the end cubicle and went sailing through the wall in a fright, screeching that the ghost of a rat was haunting her toilet.) 

At the staff table, Dumbledore's face was unusually grave. Once all the students had arrived, he stood and began to speak. 

'Last night nearly a quarter of your number narrowly escaped serious injury or even death -- in part from a dangerous and ill-advised joke, but mainly as the result of an unnecessary panic over a harmless animal. The Grim is merely a warning; it has no power in itself to bring misfortune. The creature that appeared at supper was not even that, but an ordinary dog ... as you may see for yourselves.' 

Dumbledore went out into the Entrance Hall and returned with a giant black dog strolling beside him. 

'This is Snuffles,' Dumbledore said. 

A nervous muttering filled the room but no one screamed or tried to run. Dumbledore walked up and down the house tables with Sirius, letting everyone pat him to prove he was solid. Upon completing his circuit of the Great Hall, Sirius came to lie on the floor behind Harry's chair, where Harry, Ron and Hermione fed him bits of bacon and toast. 

When the three of them left breakfast, Sirius trotted after them. In the Entrance Hall, he caught hold of Harry's belt with his teeth and pulled him towards the marble staircase. Ron and Hermione made to follow; Sirius waved them off with a massive paw. 

'I think he wants to talk to me alone,' said Harry. 

Sirius led Harry up to the fourth floor and along a narrow, winding corridor, at the end of which was a dull silver mirror in a rough ebony frame. Sirius gave three short barks and plunged through the glass into the secret passage beyond. Once Harry had joined him, he turned back into himself. 

'I want a word with you about your aunt and uncle,' Sirius said abruptly. 'Dumbledore tells me that things have been strained between you and them ever since you started at Hogwarts ...' 

'Yeah, they have,' said Harry. He could have told Sirius that things had been strained between him and the Dursleys for considerably longer than that, but he was too curious to hear what his godfather had to say. 

'He doesn't want to make the situation worse by speaking ill of them in front of you, but Harry, you could've been killed!' Sirius began to pace the tunnel. 'The truth is, your relatives are idiots even for Muggles. Going off and leaving you with Arabella like that, and them not even knowing she was a witch! Dumbledore'd written to them about Voldemort at the end of term -- they hadn't even opened the letter! He found it under a pile of newspapers in their kitchen!' 

Sirius was practically spitting with rage. He paused to get hold of himself and continued more calmly, 'What I mean to say is you can't rely on them in an emergency. If any trouble comes up, you go straight to Mrs Figg. Don't mess about with your aunt and uncle.' He gripped Harry's shoulders and stared him in the eye. 'Swear to me that you'll do that, Harry ...' 

'Er -- all right,' said Harry. 

It wasn't as though he could ask the Dursleys for help anyway. Sirius, however, appeared satisfied with this promise 

'I'll have to be getting back to Remus' house,' he said. 'I'll see you again when I can.' 

Without warning, he reached over and hugged Harry tightly. Then, before Harry could say anything more, Sirius changed into a dog again and went bounding off. 

* 

On Friday Harry turned in the essay Snape had assigned him as punishment for having gone missing during the summer. It was only half-finished -- four foot nine rather than the required six feet -- and, Harry had to admit, a poor job even by his usual standards for Potions homework. Not the least to his surprise, Snape gave him a detention. 

Harry arrived at Snape's dungeon that evening to find Fred and George waiting outside. The twins were to spend the next month scouring the fireplace in the Slytherin common room with toothbrushes, and tonight it seemed Harry would be helping. 

Snape gave each of them a bronze amulet with an engraving of a Salamander on it (to protect them from burns, George told Harry) and a bag of Streeler shells, which he had them grind up and mix with water to make a glittering, multi-coloured paste. When they were done with that, Snape took them down a damp corridor, stopping by bare stretch of stone wall. He drew a silver key from his robes and inserted it into a crevice. With a sharp click, the concealed door to the Slytherin dormitories slid open. A sickening stench came billowing out. 

'Eurgh, what's _that_?' gasped Harry, staggering back. 

'Poison, I expect,' said Fred. 'Don't go in there.' 

'Quick, Harry, run and fetch Madam Pomfrey,' said George. 'Most of the Slytherins are probably dead, but she may be able save a few of the tougher ones.' 

Harry glanced nervously from one twin to the other, trying to tell if they were serious. 

'You stay where you are, Potter,' said Snape coldly. 'There's nothing poisonous about those fumes.' 

'How do you know?' challenged Fred. 

'I'm sure I smell devil's-foot root ...' said George, wrinkling his nose. 

Snape's enormous nostrils dilated. '_I_ smell stinkhorn, asafoetida, rancid pilchard oil and burnt garlic,' he said flatly. 'All perfectly harmless. Now get inside!' 

The few Slytherins still in the common room all wore what Harry assumed were silver nose-plugs. Closer to the fireplace, the smell grew even more intense. Harry was feeling thoroughly ill as he, Fred and George stepped into the crackling flames, picked out likely stones and started scrubbing. 

'Don't worry, you get used to it after a bit,' said Fred in a low voice. 'The Slytherins've been chucking horrible-smelling stuff in the fire every night before Snape brings us here.' 

'Yeah -- we're getting some brilliant ideas for an improved line of Dungbombs,' said George. 'But you want to watch your back. First detention, one of the Slytherins cancelled our Flame-Freezing Charms when Snape wasn't looking. That's why we're wearing these.' He tapped his amulet. 'Fortunately Madam Pomfrey had lots of Burdock's Burn Balm on hand from the dragons last year.' 

'We hadn't reckoned they'd blame you for the fudge as well,' said Fred glumly. 'Sorry, mate.' 

'No more talking, Weasley or you'll all be staying an extra hour,' Snape called from the opposite side of the room, where he sat in a carved chair marking papers and eyeing them like an evil-tempered vulture. 

* 

Harry had cause to remember George's warning Monday morning at breakfast, when the usual mass of owls delivered the post. Not one but two packages were dropped by his plate -- sent, apparently, from _4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey_. 

Harry's first thought was that the Dursleys had finally decided to throw him out of the house and were returning the few things he'd left in their smallest bedroom. When he unwrapped the largest package, however, it proved to contain a chocolate cake. Harry stared at the box in bewilderment. Aunt Petunia hadn't once in his whole life baked a cake for him, and it was neither his birthday nor any other special occasion he could recall. 

'Cool!' said Ron. 'Can I have a slice?' 

'No!' said Harry sharply. At Ron's startled and faintly affronted expression, he explained, 'The Dursleys would never send me a cake. I'd bet anything that this is from the Slytherins.' 

Ron leant away from the cake as though afraid it would leap off the table and attack him. With a dirty look at the Slytherin table, Harry shut the box and stowed it under his chair. After breakfast he tipped both packages into a convenient dustbin beneath the marble staircase. 

'Sending me a cake and saying it was from the Dursleys -- as if!' he said to Ron and Hermione as they walked away. 'I thought Slytherins were supposed to be _cunning_ ...' 

There was a rustling noise behind them. Harry turned to see Crabbe and Goyle bending over the dustbin, scooping out great handfuls of cake and cramming it into their mouths. 

'Cunning, are they?' said Ron, stifling a snigger. 

'Well, mostly cunning,' Harry amended. 

But as he watched Crabbe and Goyle stuff themselves, an uneasy feeling crept over him. If the cake had been an attempt at revenge by the Slytherins, surely the two of them would have been told about it? 

'D'you reckon the Slytherins _didn't_ send that cake?' he asked worriedly. 

'If they didn't, you know who must have,' said Hermione in alarm. 'Don't eat that!' she shouted. 

Crabbe and Goyle merely smirked at her as they licked the last few crumbs from their fingers and ambled out the giant oak front doors. 

'They look OK,' said Harry. 

'Mind, it would take strong poison to finish off that pair of trolls,' said Ron. 

'Maybe it was the other package that You-Know-Who jinxed,' said Hermione. 'I mean, he must have realised by now that that snake isn't going to bite you ...' 

She pointed her wand at the dustbin and the smaller box rose up out of it. 

'I'm taking this to Professor McGonagall!' 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

How come Harry didn't tell Dumbledore that he had to report back to Voldemort? 

Harry had completely forgotten about it, mostly as he had no intention of ever actually doing so. (Note that Harry also didn't think to tell Dumbledore what Voldemort said about Madam Turpin.) 

Will a snake-basket attract Harry in human form? 

Not by itself, no. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	11. Snake Baskets

  
  


— CHAPTER ELEVEN — 

_Snake Baskets_

  
Hermione kept the smaller box drifting several feet ahead of them all the way to Professor McGonagall's office. 

'But what makes you so certain these packages aren't from your aunt and uncle?' said Professor McGonagall when Harry explained the situation. 'They missed your birthday this summer.' 

'The Dursleys haven't given me a birthday present since I was ten,' said Harry, 'and after what Voldemort did to their house, they're not likely to start now.' 

'But they send you Christmas presents,' said Professor McGonagall. 

'Yeah,' said Harry bitterly, 'a tissue, a toothpick, a fifty-pence piece and an empty box. Don't know why they bother, really.' 

'I -- I see,' said Professor McGonagall, looking faintly alarmed. 'These Christmas presents -- you wouldn't still have any of them, would you?' 

Harry stared at her. 

'Ron's dad's got the fifty-pence piece,' he said at length. 

Harry had seen it whilst visiting The Burrow for the Quidditch World Cup. The Muggle coin claimed pride of place in the display cabinet that housed Mr Weasley's plug collection: front and centre on a tatty green velvet cushion with gold tassels on three of its four corners. As for rest of the Dursleys' offerings, Harry had made it something of a tradition to toss them into the fire before going down to breakfast on Christmas morning. 

'You don't have to break the curse, just get rid of the -- whatever it is -- safely,' he added. 'And Madam Pomfrey should definitely have a look at Crabbe and Goyle ...' 

'Yes, of course,' said Professor McGonagall distractedly. 

With a flick of her wand she sent the package gliding towards the door and strode out the room behind it. 

* 

Next Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall called Harry to her desk at the end of class. 

'I've spoken with Dumbledore. He says your aunt and uncle did send you those packages; in fact, he brought the boxes to the Hogsmeade Post Office himself. There wasn't much of the cake left, unfortunately, but I was able to assemble this from the crumbs ...' 

She opened a drawer and took out what looked like (and, Harry realised, probably was) a shrunken cake-box, which held a biscuit-sized sliver of chocolate cake. 

'You should eat that directly,' said Professor McGonagall, turning her quill into a fork and holding it out to Harry. 

'Er -- why?' he asked. 

'It's necessary to restore the protection on you and your relations,' said Professor McGonagall. 

Feeling rather stupid, Harry took the fork and popped the bit of cake into his mouth. Professor McGonagall drew a second box, long and flat, from the inside of her robes. She lifted the top to reveal a handsome golden wristwatch. 

'Wear this every day, if possible ... and when you get your Christmas present, don't throw it away. Keep it in your trunk if you've got no use for it.' 

Under Professor McGonagall's beady gaze, Harry put on the watch. He exited the classroom, stunned. A fair few strange things had happened to him since the beginning of summer -- spending his holidays as Voldemort's pet, returning to Hogwarts as Draco Malfoy's, learning Mrs Figg was his godmother and Professor Snape was, if not heir of Gryffindor, then the nearest thing to it -- but receiving a gold wristwatch from the Dursleys was by far the weirdest. 

* 

Harry had been wearing his new watch for little over a week when, after a quite short lesson on Diricawls, Hagrid said to Malfoy, 'C'mon out to me house tonight. I got the snake-grass.' 

That evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione followed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle across the grounds to Hagrid's cabin. 

'What are _they_ doing here?' spat Malfoy when they stepped through the door. 

'They're gonna be helpin' us with the Snake Baskets,' said Hagrid. 

Malfoy looked both angry and suspicious, but evidently didn't dare risk annoying Hagrid by complaining. There weren't enough chairs to go around, so the six students sat on the floor of the hut, where Hagrid showed them how to fashion coils out of bundles of snake-grass (which was grey-green and smelled strongly of lavender) and stitch them into an egg-shaped basket. 

Malfoy wasn't very good at it. He appeared thoroughly disgruntled at having to do what he no doubt considered servant's work. Harry, with his vast experience of doing servant's work for the Dursleys, had no difficulties. Crabbe and Goyle didn't even try to learn how to make Snake Baskets. They amused themselves by poking each other (and occasionally Harry, Ron or Hermione) with longest stalks of snake-grass they could pick out. After half an hour of this, Hagrid ordered the pair of them back to the castle. Hermione _was_ trying, but to her great frustration she was even worse at it than Malfoy. Ron put aside his own basket early on to assist Hermione. 

'Yeh'll want ter set them Snake Baskets out quick as yeh can,' Hagrid told Malfoy as they worked. 'Snakes'll start hibernatin' soon, an' it sounds like yer one's a grass snake. They never come this far north on their own, they're used ter warmer weather, see. Tha' may be why it ran off, ter find a place ter hole up fer the winter. In that case, it won' turn up again 'til March or April. Any other snake yeh catch round here'll be an adder. Adders're poisonous -- they bite you, it'll hurt like anythin' -- but yeh won' die of it, s'long as yeh stay calm an' get ter Madam Pomfrey. Good par' is, when we find yer snake it'll be easy ter recognise.' 

Hagrid had exceptionally fast fingers for such a large man. In the time it took Harry to produce a single basket, Hagrid had made two of his own, converted four of Hermione's false starts into lids and finished Malfoy's basket for him. Once the baskets were done, Hagrid had them smear the insides with frog tripe. He then gave the milk jug to Hermione and told her to pour a few drops in each one. They put the Snake Baskets around the lake: one at each quarter, laid on its side and half-buried in the mud. 

'They like water, grass snakes,' said Hagrid. 'Wherever yer one ended up, it'll be makin' its way down here eventually. We jus' got ter wait.' 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Malfoy headed for the castle, Gryffindors and Slytherin keeping a fair distance between them by mutual agreement. 

Hermione's persistent inability to make a proper Snake Basket had left her in an extremely bad mood. 

'Malfoy's setting these things to catch _me_, remember?' said Harry, in an attempt to cheer her up. 'We don't _want_ him to have loads of them.' 

'I could help you practise some more,' said Ron hopefully. He had spent the evening sitting close to Hermione -- peering over her shoulder, holding her hands and brushing away tendrils of her bushy hair when they drifted into his face. 

Hermione muttered something about going to the library. 

* 

Next night as Harry and Ron were doing their Divination homework, Hermione came bursting through the portrait hole. Clutched to her chest was an unusually thick book with a cover of tapestry. 

'I know why Lucius Malfoy tried to steal your Famous Wizard cards last year, Harry,' she said triumphantly, dropping the book (_An Illustrated Encyclopedia of Magical Pattern Weaving, with Samplers_) on their table with a loud thud. 

'Mr Malfoy never tried to steal my --' Harry did a double take. 'You mean -- Polyjuice Potion? Madam Turpin was _him_?' 

'No, of course not,' said Hermione impatiently. 'He _hired_ her to steal them. And I bet it was him buying up those other copies anonymously, too.' 

'You're mental,' said Ron. 'What would Lucius Malfoy want a Famous Wizard card of Harry for?' 

'For the photos of his christening robe,' said Hermione. 'I was reading up on Snake Baskets and I found this ...' 

She opened the book. A panel of lace very much like the one that adorned the hem of that embarrassing garment was bound into it. On the page opposite was a picture of a witch pointing her wand at an arrangement of pins and thread on a wooden table, which was busily weaving more lace. 

'The pattern of the lace is used as a code to write down spells,' Hermione said. 'Mr Malfoy believed your dad was heir of Gryffindor -- he probably figured the christening robe was a record of some sort of important old magic.' 

'Voldemort said he'd been stealing things,' said Harry. 'I'd thought he meant _his_ things. So it _was_ Lucius Malfoy's fault the Triwizard Tournament was almost cancelled ...' 

'Right, that's why You-Know-Who was upset with him,' said Hermione. She looked at Harry keenly. 'If we can get hold of that robe, I should be able to translate the spell. D'you have any idea where it is now? 

'I expect it was blown up along with my parents' house,' said Harry gloomily. 'The only thing I have that belonged to them is my Invisibility Cloak.' 

'Oh,' said Hermione, disappointed. 'Well -- we could try and read it off one of the Famous Wizard cards, I suppose, although it doesn't seem Mr Malfoy was having much luck with that.' 

'Not 'til next year, we can't,' said Harry. 'The cards are in my Gringotts vault.' 

'If you think it's that important, you could always ask Professor Snape to borrow his,' said Ron with a sly grin. 

'Oh, I'm sure it's not,' said Hermione hastily. 'I mean, as Harry's father wasn't the heir after all ...' 

* 

Malfoy checked the Snake Baskets every day (and scowled ferociously if he saw Harry so much as glance at them), but no snakes were caught. October gave way to November and the weather grew steadily colder; of morning frost covered the grounds. 

'Migh' as well bring the baskets inside,' Hagrid said to Malfoy. 'Snakes're all hibernatin' by now fer sure.' 

Malfoy looked as though he had just received news of a death (which, Harry thought uneasily, was not far off the mark, considering how angry Voldemort would undoubtedly be about his failure to recapture the snake). 

'You can leave 'em out if yeh really wan' to,' said Hagrid quickly, 'but they'll've fallen apar' by spring, an' then yeh'll have ter make new ones.' 

The Snake Baskets stayed out. Harry noticed that Malfoy continued to check them even in the worst of weather, but at that point he had problems of his own to contend with. Trying times had come upon the Weasley family; in addition to his own misery over the situation, Harry had to support Ron through it all. 

Voldemort remained oddly quiet. If he was working on some fresh plan to discredit Dumbledore or locate the non-existent heir of Gryffindor, he did a remarkably good job of keeping his activities under wraps. 

Malfoy stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas to keep an eye on the Snake Baskets. Harry, however, went home -- and learnt exactly why the Dark Lord had been lying so low during autumn term. 

In fairness to Voldemort, he was not directly responsible for the uproar that rocked the magical community over the Christmas holidays (and, ironically enough, brought about the resolution of the Weasleys' troubles). That had been one-third the fault of an incompetent underling and two-thirds the fault of Harry himself. 

The young Death Eater took full blame, although the more intelligent members of the Ministry of Magic realised he must have had accomplices. Unfortunately, Cornelius Fudge was not among them; thus the Ministry's official policy on Voldemort's non-return remained unchanged. So, apparently, did Voldemort's policy of waiting for the serpent plot to come off, as Malfoy carried on checking the baskets throughout the winter. 

By spring the Snake Baskets had indeed fallen apart. Malfoy put out seven handsome new ones, far too fine for him to have made himself. As March turned to April, he caught a number of fat, splodgy adders. Hagrid suggested that Harry ask if any of them had seen a grass snake about, but Malfoy flatly vetoed this idea. Not only did he still blame Harry for stealing the snake, he and the rest of the Slytherins now also suspected him of having murdered Professor Snape. 

Summer approached. Malfoy was looking increasingly tense each morning after he checked the Snake Baskets. Harry was nearly as anxious as Malfoy was -- he knew all too well how Voldemort dealt with wizards who failed him. Harry had little reason to like Malfoy, but he couldn't help feeling somewhat responsible for the fix Draco was in. If only Harry had told someone sooner that the Dursleys were gone, Voldemort would never have got his hands on the snake in the first place. 

Ron and Hermione tried to keep Harry's spirits up. 

'Malfoy deserves whatever he gets,' said Ron. 'You're forgetting, he wants that snake back so he can murder you with it ...' 

'You should be worrying about your O.W.Ls, not Malfoy,' said Hermione. 'You-Know-Who's not likely to do anything really horrible to him. It wasn't Malfoy's fault the snake disappeared, he couldn't very well have brought it to dinner with him. And this was his first mission -- he'll get a second chance.' 

'This _was_ his second chance,' said Harry moodily. 'Well, his father's second chance ... Voldemort'd given him a Basilisk and I reckon something happened to it. He told him to take better care of me.' 

Hermione looked suddenly aghast. 

'What's the matter, Hermione?' said Ron. 

'I -- I don't think Lucius Malfoy had permission to give You-Know-Who's diary to Ginny,' she said. '_That_ was the Basilisk he was talking about, the one in the Chamber of Secrets, the one Harry killed. Honestly, I'm surprised You-Know-Who didn't curse Mr Malfoy to death the minute he found out ...' 

This was not what you could call reassuring. 

* 

Near the middle of May, Professor Snape turned up alive and Professor Millarca departed under something of a cloud, but no one had expected her to last long anyway. Soon afterwards Harry overheard Malfoy and Hagrid arguing in Care of Magical Creatures. 

'I don' care what Professor Snape said. S'as close ter Dark Magic as makes no diff'rence,' Hagrid growled. 

'I'd be using _my_ blood,' said Malfoy peevishly. 'I don't see why --' 

'Yeh couldn',' Hagrid interrupted. 'That spell needs blood from a woman ter work. No, I forbid yeh!' 

Hagrid stumped off to tend to the giant fish tank of silvery Ramoras that sat in front of his cabin. Malfoy gazed resentfully at his retreating back. 

Harry, however, no longer had time to dwell on Malfoy's predicament. The O.W.Ls were rapidly approaching. Hermione's exam nerves had reached a fever pitch. She spent every moment of her spare time revising frantically and was forcing Harry and Ron to do the same (at wandpoint if necessary: when Ron attempted to knock off early one evening, Hermione put the Leg-Locker Curse on him). 

Harry was torn between the fear of doing badly on his O.W.Ls and the fear that it wouldn't matter if he did. Should Voldemort succeeded in taking power, a hundred O.W.Ls would not be enough to save Harry from his wrath. 

* 

The night after the last exam, Harry fell into bed feeling drained as an empty Butterbeer bottle, and dropped off to sleep almost immediately. He dreamed he was in his tank again. He slithered through the tall grass, searching for his burrow, but the unbroken earth seemed to go on for ever. Now the grass was curling around his body, binding him. He thrashed about, struggling to free himself; the grass merely wrapped itself tighter -- 

Harry woke abruptly, entangled in blankets. He threw off the bedclothes and flung back the hangings of his four-poster. Still half-asleep, he fumbled for his glasses and staggered to the pond to have a drink -- only to find himself staring out a window at the Hogwarts lake. Two people were crouched beside one of the Snake Baskets. It was Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. 

Malfoy stood up and began waving his wand, leaving a trail of purple sparks that slowly descended onto the Snake Basket. Not stopping to worry about getting caught by Filch, not stopping to grab his wand or his Invisibility Cloak, not even stopping to put on his trainers, Harry ran from Gryffindor Tower. It was as though he was back in his dream as he sprinted through deserted corridors, down six floors to the marble staircase and out the great oak front doors. 

Harry tore across the lawn towards the Snake Basket. Malfoy and Pansy were walking away from it along the lake; hearing his pounding footfalls, they turned and gaped. The sight of their shocked faces brought Harry to his senses. 

'Hagrid said you weren't supposed to use that spell,' he said accusingly. 

Malfoy raised his wand. Ropes flew out, twisting themselves around Harry's arms and legs. Malfoy gave the ends a hard jerk, sending Harry crashing to the ground. He stepped up to Harry and kicked him in the head with all his strength. 

Harry's vision went black. When he came round, there was a hammering in his skull and his entire body was being bumped and jolted painfully. Malfoy was dragging him into the Forbidden Forest. 

Coming to a halt by a convenient clump of bushes, Malfoy rolled Harry underneath them with his foot. 

'You wait here, Potter. I'll be back for you when I've caught my snake ...' 

— TO BE CONTINUED — 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

Snape will know about Harry's serpent form later in the story, right? 

Not later in _this_ story. Snape is currently scheduled to find out about Harry's serpent form right after Voldemort is defeated at the end of seventh year, which is about a dozen stories down the line. Of course, this plot point is subject to change without notice if I happen to get a better idea. 

Is Harry an Animagus or is he some other kind of a shape-shifter? 

Some other kind of shape-shifter, but not even Dumbledore is sure exactly _what_ other kind. 

Does Voldemort know Seeker is missing? 

He does by now. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


	12. The Aitvaras

  
**Author's Note:** What happens to Harry in this chapter will make a lot more sense if you know that an **Aitvaras** is a creature from Lithuanian folklore which takes the form of a fiery, flying serpent and steals food and gold for its master. 

* * *

  
  


— CHAPTER TWELVE — 

_The Aitvaras_

  
Malfoy's footsteps faded in the distance. Harry struggled pointlessly against his bonds for several minutes, then slumped to the ground once more. He wasn't certain how long he lay there, exhausted and gasping for breath. It was difficult to keep his thoughts focused; his head ached abominably. 

But why, Harry reflected through a blur of pain, should being tied up pose such a problem for him? He had no trouble getting around as a serpent without the use of his arms and legs. It was simply a matter of curving one's spine correctly ... 

Harry flailed and squirmed, but his spine obstinately refused to curve. Finally, out of sheer frustration, he transformed into a snake. That was much better. Not only could he now wriggle his body in proper side-to-side waves, he was tiny enough to crawl easily out of the ropes. Yet although more mobile as a snake, Harry was still disoriented and badly hurt. He had to get away from there, his instincts told him, it wasn't safe. He needed to find a place to hide and rest. 

Harry fluttered his tongue. A peculiar smell rode the evening breeze. Strangely drawn, he glided through the undergrowth in its direction, managing a fair turn of speed in spite of his weakened condition. Soon Harry was out of the Forest and heading for the lake. The smell was noticeably stronger now. It appeared to be coming from -- there! A wickerwork cavern rose up from the muddy shore as though it had sprouted there. Harry slithered gratefully inside and coiled up to sleep. 

Some time later he was woken by a bright light and a cry of triumph. His burrow was wrenched violently upwards, flinging him about. Before Harry could get his bearings, a hand reached in, gripped his neck tightly and pulled him out. Malfoy's grotesquely enlarged face filled Harry's vision. 

Harry was shaken to and fro as Malfoy rummaged in the pocket of his robes. Then something hard but warm touched his head. Malfoy drew his wand and spoke an incantation. The warmth grew blazingly hot, coursing through Harry's body, soaking into his very bones. 

Malfoy dropped Harry back into the Snake Basket. Harry gazed upwards. He could see stars through the mouth of the basket. Malfoy's spell had driven away most of the pain and dizziness he'd been suffering, and the night sky seemed to call to him. A fresh wave of heat surged over Harry. He shot straight up out of the basket like a bullet from a gun. 

It was as if he was riding a Firebolt -- as if he _was_ a Firebolt. Wind whipped past him; all of Hogwarts was receding below. He could see Malfoy and Pansy standing by the lake, gaping down at the burning Snake Basket. He could see the castle, the vegetable gardens, the greenhouses, the Whomping Willow ... and Hagrid's hut. 

Harry went into a steep dive. The ground rushed towards him and he did not pull up. The force of his impact sent a shock through his entire body, yet he felt no pain. 

Harry clambered out of the smoking crater made by his landing. A door as tall as a cathedral loomed in front of him. It swung magically open as he approached and closed behind him once he had crossed the threshold. He found himself inside a vast, dimly lit room. Its cupboards and ceiling were full of food, and there was gold in the pockets of the great black overcoat hanging by the door. Warm embers glowed invitingly in the fire. 

As Harry was gathering his coils to slither towards it, a low, sleepy voice growled, 'Who's there?' 

'It's me, Harry,' said Harry. 

He felt an almighty thud as two gigantic feet hit the floor and heard massive fingers scrabbling at the bedpost. Hagrid lit his lamp. Harry swiftly changed back into himself. 

A small, flinty object bounced off the end of his nose and the pain in his head returned, worse than ever. He collapsed against the door-frame and slid to the floor. Then Hagrid, wearing a voluminous canary-yellow nightshirt, was bending anxiously over him. 

'Yeh've got blood in yer hair! What's happened?' 

Harry looked up at Hagrid owlishly. 'Malfoy kicked me in the head. He was doing that spell you didn't want him to.' 

Hagrid threw on his overcoat, scooped Harry up in one arm, flung open the door with the other and began striding across the lawn. 

'Hagrid!' said Harry indignantly. 'I can walk!' 

It was just as well that Hagrid didn't take him up on this. Merely lifting his head made Harry feel horribly sick and dizzy. Perhaps it _would_ be best to let Hagrid carry him, Harry thought, so that he himself could concentrate on not throwing up. He had the oddest notion that this was not the first time Hagrid had done so, but trying to remember the previous occasion only made his skull pound harder ... 

Harry tugged at the giant's beard. 'Who're you?' he asked irritably. 'Where's my mum?' 

The giant threw him a worried look and stepped up its pace. 

'Jus' hang on, now, Harry, yeh're gonna be fine. Madam Pomfrey'll have yeh right in no time.' 

'Oh -- oh, right, Hagrid,' muttered Harry, sinking back. 

Next thing he knew, Hagrid was setting him carefully down on a bed in the hospital wing. 

'You jus' lie still,' he said. 'I'll go an' fetch Madam Pomfrey.' 

Hagrid quickly reappeared with the Hogwarts matron, who clucked over Harry's injury and gave him a potion. Harry drifted off to sleep shortly after drinking it, but he didn't rest easily. He dreamed he was a prisoner again in the Dursleys' smallest bedroom. Hot, bright sunlight poured through the window and Ron was hovering above the trees in a golden car. Harry tried to fly up to meet him, but Uncle Vernon clutched at his ankles with hands as cold as iron ... 

Harry awoke at the first light of dawn in an unfamiliar room. He was lying on his front with his head at the foot of the bed. When he attempted to roll over, he discovered that his feet had been chained to the headboard. As there was no one about, Harry freed himself by the simple expedient of changing into a snake and back. 

There was a jug of water on the bedside table. Harry drank nearly half of it, then checked the door, which wasn't locked. He set off down the corridor outside. A second door led him to the main hospital wing, where his attention was drawn to an apothecary cabinet at the other side of the ward. He went over to it and pulled open a drawer, which turned out to be full of chocolate. 

As Harry was starting on his third piece, a voice behind him said in an incensed whisper, _'What do you think you're doing?'_

Harry suddenly realised that he was eating his way through Madam Pomfrey's medicine chest. 

'I was hungry ...' he said lamely. 

'Back to bed at once,' she stormed, grabbing him by the arm and hustling him across the ward and back up the corridor. When they reached Harry's room, Madam Pomfrey saw the manacles lying unopened on the bed and stopped short. 'How in heaven's name did you --' 

'Er -- magic?' said Harry. His eyes narrowed. 'What's that you've got round your neck?' 

Madam Pomfrey's hand flew to her throat. 'This? It's my mediwitch's amulet ...' 

She pushed the chains aside so that Harry could get into bed right side up and conjured him a bowl of porridge . 

'I don't suppose you recall how you came to be injured?' she said as he ate. 

'Malfoy kicked me in the head,' said Harry. 

'Yes, Hagrid said you told him that,' said Madam Pomfrey, 'but you're positive he did nothing else to you? 

'I'd caught him casting a spell to catch snakes,' said Harry. 'Hagrid said it was almost Dark Magic.' 

Madam Pomfrey eyed Harry dubiously but didn't press him further. She would not permit him return to Gryffindor Tower, however, insisting he remained in the hospital wing for observation. 

Harry lay in his bed feeling very stupid. What had got into him to go chasing after Malfoy like that, alone and without his Cloak or his wand? He was lucky Malfoy hadn't decided not to bother with the snake and finished him off then and there. 

When Ron and Hermione showed up to visit Harry later in the day, their expressions of deep concern made Harry feel all the worse. This was the third time in less than a year that his own poor judgement had nearly got him killed. They'd be furious with him, especially Ron. Why hadn't Harry woken Ron up when he saw what Malfoy was up to, or gone and found a teacher? 

Harry briefly considered telling Ron and Hermione that he'd banged his head on the bedside cabinet whilst climbing out of his four-poster, but of course they'd soon learn the truth from Hagrid, if they hadn't already. 

'Look, I'm really sorry about last night --' he began. 

'What happened last night?' said Ron tensely. 

'I woke up and saw Malfoy messing with the Snake Baskets --' 

'What, again?' said Hermione, frowning. 'Hagrid told me he'd chucked them all in the fire --' 

'I expect he did, afterwards,' said Harry. 'Anyway, I went running down to stop him. I don't know, I must not've been properly awake. Malfoy tied me up and kicked me in the head --' 

Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. 

'Harry, that was last week, not last night,' said Ron. 'You've been in hospital wing for almost four days.' 

'_What?_' said Harry. 

'You were delirious,' said Hermione in a trembling voice. 'You had a fever -- you got so hot the sheets caught on fire. Madam Pomfrey had to put an Unburnable Charm on the bed, that's when she moved you to a private room. Then you started flying, really flying, which is supposed to be impossible. You kept trying to go out the window, so she borrowed some of Filch's manacles and chained you down.' 

'Nobody knew what was wrong with you,' said Ron. 'Potions lessons were cancelled on Monday, Snape was so busy brewing stuff for Madam Pomfrey to try giving you. Dumbledore was going to call in a specialist from St Mungo's if that last batch hadn't worked.' 

Harry stared at Ron in astonishment. Then his gaze snapped back to Hermione. 

'What's that you've got round your neck?' 

* 

It was another day and a half before Madam Pomfrey agreed to let Harry leave the ward. He felt perfectly normal. Strain his memory as he might, he could recall none of the behaviour Ron and Hermione had described. Whatever damage Malfoy had done by kicking him in the head and turning him into an Aitvaras had evidently been completely mended. 

In Harry's absence, a fashion for gold jewellery had sprung up overnight amongst the girls (and even some of the boys) at Hogwarts. His fellow Gryffindors were caching food and Galleons in their dormitories like Muggle survivalists battening down for a nuclear war -- maybe Harry's accident had finally persuaded them to take the threat of Voldemort seriously. 

Rumours of his bizarre indisposition had definitely spread. People eyed Harry furtively at breakfast, although nothing to how they had done the previous year after Cedric's death. That was one consolation: as humiliating as it was to have let Malfoy get the drop on him, at least this year nobody had been murdered ... yet. 

Malfoy himself was trudging around the school with the look of a man faced with the end of the world, or his own execution. This was not because of any punishment for his attack on Harry. Malfoy and Pansy had managed to sneak back into the Slytherin dormitories with no one the wiser whilst Hagrid was bringing Harry to the hospital wing. When confronted by Hagrid next morning, Malfoy denied everything, maintaining that Harry had hit his head walking into a tree and hallucinated the whole incident. As Hagrid had already destroyed the Snake Baskets, he had no evidence to the contrary. 

No, it was clear that what Malfoy was dreading was going home with his mission for Voldemort uncompleted. Harry had hoped Malfoy would have the sense to blame his illness on an Aitvaras bite, but apparently he did not. That night, Harry fell asleep brooding over how he might suggest this course of action to Malfoy without giving away his secret ... 

High above the clouds, Harry was flying. A fiery snake once more, he sizzled across the sky, then started abruptly to descend. He was plummeting towards a grey stone building -- either a large, showy manor or a small, plain castle. 

Harry dropped into one of its many chimneys. The rising hot air broke his fall, so that he landed gently in the fireplace. He settled himself amidst the crackling flames, feeling pleasantly warm and contented. Then he caught a whiff of the wizard sitting at the desk in front of the fire. It had been months since Harry had last smelled that curious mixture of human and snake, but he would never forget the scent of Lord Voldemort. 

There was anger in Voldemort's smell and, more alarmingly, there was excitement -- the same excitement he always smelled of when he was tormenting his servants. Harry could smell fear on the draught of a door at the far side of the room, and he suspected that it was only too well justified. 

Voldemort shifted in his seat. The door opened and the frightened smell grew much stronger. Odd shuffling vibrations travelled through the floor. 

'So,' said Voldemort. 'The end of another year at Hogwarts ... and Harry Potter is still alive.' 

'My Lord --' said a terrified voice. 

Though the desk blocked Harry's view of its owner, he had no difficulty identifying the voice as Lucius Malfoy's. 

'I told you, did I not, that this was to be your last chance?' said Voldemort conversationally. 

'My Lord, it was Dumbledore, he must have found out,' said Mr Malfoy rapidly. 'Snape must have told him ...' 

'Indeed?' said Voldemort coldly. 'Unless _someone_ was foolish enough to mention it to him, Snape did not know.' 

'No -- no, my Lord, I swear, I didn't --' 

'Many years ago, I was given reason to doubt Snape's dedication to our cause. He offered me a rather convincing proof of his loyalty. Surely you have not forgotten this?' 

The smell of dread coming from Lucius Malfoy increased tenfold. 

'Yes ...' hissed Voldemort. 'I said I would hold you personally responsible ... but truly the failure was your son's ... it hardly seems fair that you should suffer for his blundering. Bring him here ... I'm certain we can settle upon an appropriate punishment ...' 

'Y-yes, my Lord,' said Mr Malfoy in a barely audible tone. 

Harry felt him crawl out of the room. The door swung shut and Voldemort's high, mad laughter filled the air. He swivelled his chair to face the fire. Harry gazed, petrified, into the gleaming red eyes -- 

'Harry, wake up! It's eight-thirty!' 

He was back in Gryffindor Tower. Ron had drawn the curtains of his four-poster and was looking worriedly down at him. Harry climbed shakily out of bed. 

'OK there, Harry?' said Ron. 'Not having a relapse, are you?' 

'No,' said Harry. 'I had a dream.' 

Harry and Ron met up with Hermione in the common room and Harry recounted what he'd dreamed. 

'And when Voldemort was talking about a punishment for Malfoy -- he's going to kill him. He's going to have his father bring him there, and he's going to kill him.' 

'How can you be sure?' said Hermione in a slightly higher voice than usual. 

'I could smell it on him,' said Harry quietly. He stared into the fire. 'Voldemort hates the Malfoys, he hates them because their blood is purer than his. It's not just the Muggle-born who want to watch out if Voldemort ever really gets in power ...' 

'Does Malfoy's father realise?' said Ron. 

Harry remembered Lucius Malfoy's panic-stricken odour. 

'Yeah ...' he said. 'He realises.' 

Harry slumped in his armchair. Another year, another death ... it should have been Harry, but Malfoy would die in his place ... just as Cedric had done. 

'I need to tell Dumbledore,' he said abruptly. 

As Harry strode along the corridors to the Headmaster's office, he couldn't help thinking that telling Dumbledore wasn't going to do much good. Dumbledore could scarcely refuse to send a student home to his parents, even if they were planning to hand him over to Voldemort. Perhaps Malfoy could go into hiding in one of the secret passageways ... Harry could lend him his Invisibility Cloak ... but would Malfoy believe Harry that Voldemort intended to murder him if his father told him otherwise? 

Harry drew level with the gargoyle. Just as he was opening his mouth to speak the password, it hopped aside on its own. The wall behind it split apart, leaving Harry face to face with Lucius Malfoy. 

It would have been impossible to say which of them was more appalled at seeing the other. Mr Malfoy gave Harry a look of such utmost loathing that it made Snape's glowers seem friendly and benign in comparison. Harry gaped back at him in horror. Before Mr Malfoy could react, Harry dodged past him, bolted up the moving staircase two steps at a time and went skidding into Dumbledore's office. 

'Mr Malfoy -- he's come to take Draco, hasn't he?' Harry gasped. 'You can't let him, Voldemort will kill him, I had a dream --' 

Funnily enough, Dumbledore did not appear to be at all distressed at receiving this information. 

'Have you now?' he said calmly. 'Tell me about your dream.' 

Harry told him. 

'Could we say that the snake _did_ bite me?' Harry asked Dumbledore. 'Only Hagrid had an antidote in his hut, and that's why I didn't die ...' 

But Harry had a nasty suspicion that this would not be enough to satisfy Voldemort. At the close of his interview with Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort hadn't even smelled particularly angry any more. It was as though murdering Draco was a treat he was looking forward to. 

'I'm afraid we could not,' said Dumbledore. 'The Aitvaras is not, strictly speaking, a venomous serpent. Its fangs inject a concentrated form of liquid fire -- the victim is burnt to ash in a matter of moments. There is no known antidote, and no time to administer it even if one was discovered.' 

'But Malfoy --' said Harry. 'Voldemort will kill him. Can't you do _anything_?' 

'As it happens, I can,' said Dumbledore with a sudden, brilliant smile. 'You were wrong about Lucius. He did not come to Hogwarts to take Draco away, but rather ... to seek asylum. I was not certain whether to trust him -- I could not risk having Voldemort plant a spy on us yet again. But as your dream has confirmed that he is acting in good faith, I have no more qualms ...' 

Humming to himself, Dumbledore took a piece of parchment from the drawer of his desk and reached for a quill. 

'Yes ... I shall be accepting Mr Malfoy's application for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' 

— THE END — 

* * *

**Author's Note: Future Stories**

The next serious fic I'll be working on is the story of what happened to the Weasleys at Christmas. I want to get enough of a head start on it that no more (and hopefully less) than two weeks will go by between chapters when I finally start posting. This, however, will probably take two or three months. In the meantime, I'll be putting up a few more chapters of "Harmless and Easily Domesticated", which are short and relatively self-contained. After the Christmas story will be the tale of how Harry didn't murder Snape, and after that a sequel to "The Serpent of Lord Voldemort" about how being an Aitvaras affects Harry's Quidditch playing. 

* * *

**Questions from Reader Reviews:**

So why _did_ Harry go running after Malfoy like that? 

Stress, exhaustion and the fact that Malfoy had just cast seven Serpent Summoning Spells in rapid succession 

Will Voldemort ever find out about Harry's snake form? 

As the storyline is currently planned, not until Harry's seventh year. 

Hang on. What happened to the Weasleys and to Professor Snape? 

Various interesting things, but nothing to do with Malfoy catching his snake. I skimmed over this stuff because I didn't want to put "The Serpent of Lord Voldemort" on hold again to tell another story like I did with "The Butterflies" and "The Bug". The stories of what happened to the Weasleys and Snape will be the next ones I work on. 

I'm surprised Voldemort isn't suspicious of a snake that can talk human language. 

Harry was careful to speak only Parseltongue when Voldemort was around, so he never found out the snake could speak English too. 

Why _would_ the Dursleys send Harry a cake and a gold wristwatch? 

As Professor McGonagall said, it was necessary to restore the magical protection on Harry and on the Dursleys themselves, which had been weakened by their having left him over the summer. That was also why Professor McGonagall told Harry to start keeping the Dursleys' Christmas presents, and for that matter why the Dursleys were sending Harry Christmas presents in the first place. 

Will Draco always be as evil as he is now? 

Yes, he'll still be evil, he just won't be working for Voldemort any more. 

* * *

**Related Stories:**

Under the Rose Bush - Snape acquires his Famous Wizard card of Harry.   
The Serpent - Madam Kelly tries to steal the Famous Wizard card; Harry learns he can transform into a snake.   
The Butterflies - Lupin, Snuffles and Snape are hauled in by the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol for questioning about Harry's disappearance.   
The Bug - Rita Skeeter investigates the attack on the Dursleys' house and gets exactly what she deserves.   
An Unusual Specimen - Yet another reason why eating Wormtail would have been a very bad idea.   
Harmless and Easily Domesticated - Hagrid's wet lesson on Augureys. 

Thank you to all the people who've reviewed my stories. 

* * *

_ Disclaimer: All characters and concepts from the Harry Potter series copyright J K Rowling. _


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